


Homeostasis

by PirateShipping



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Damsels in Distress, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Miscommunication, My First Fanfic, Romance, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, cause that's what this is oof, i wish there was a tag for ANGST but in capslock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-10-26 05:19:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 43,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17739758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PirateShipping/pseuds/PirateShipping
Summary: When Robin the Amnesiac is found in a field, Frederick the Wary is understandably concerned. But as his suspicions fade, his frustration grows; and looking after a woman who can't recall the most basic skills of self-preservation proves to be quite the challenge.





	1. Sleeping Potential

**Author's Note:**

> My first fanfic! Cross-posted from ff.net due to popular demand <3

It was no secret that Frederick distrusted the Shepherds' new tactician.

_Robin._  That was what she  _said_  her name was. But from the moment her unconscious form was first salvaged from that field, her flimsy identity and Plegian robes had otherwise screamed "enemy spy" - and that was the suspicion that kept Sir Frederick the wary decently wary. And yet, to his dismay, his words of caution went unheeded.

The first day, he watched this Robin like a hawk, poised to take her down if she made any sudden movements towards his noble charges. He was almost surprised when she did not act - even more so when she offered her assistance in that first dangerous conflict that beset the group. Such a decision was certainly oddfor a potential spy. But the amnesiac's bizarre manner didn't end there.

Mere seconds after discovering her ability to use weapons, Robin had charged into the thick of the fight like a madwoman. She was a tiny thing, pale hair whirling about her as she flung novice spells and flailed her rusty sword at the enemies that quickly had her surrounded.

She also revealed a hidden, rapier intellect; analyzing the bandit's defenses with streams of detailed, strategic babbling. But despite this, she seemed painfully unaware of her own perilous actions. Two axes whizzed by her head, missing her by inches as Robin fixed her excitable attention on her attacker's weak points, and Prince Chrom tried frantically to keep up with her advance. While her newfound gift in battle tactics would normally leave Frederick impressed; he was too busy panicking, as he watched his beloved prince and princess leap to her defense in the fray.

Robin sustained at least six life-threatening wounds in that first battle, groaning in surprised pain each time Lissa had to sprint over and patch up her crumpled form with a staff. And each time thereafter, the tactician would spring right back up - and head straight for the nearest enemy, while Frederick scrambled to keep the princess out of harm's way. Chrom spent the battle on Robin's heels, each turn a desperate attempt to draw the attention of the bandits she left in her wake, as she cheated blow after blow of certain death. The prince did what he could to protect her slumping form from any remaining adversaries, as Robin staggered to a halt and began bleeding out… again.

The entire experience hadn't done much to lessen Frederick's malcontent. After all, the lack of self-preservation in this strange woman had put his royal charges in a fair amount of danger. Then again - her strategic intellect had won them the battle against poor odds; and Frederick felt his suspicions slightly quelled. Any Plegian spy that would hurl themselves into such obvious danger, and need to be brought back from the brink of death multiple times, was clearly not a very  _good_  spy. The same reason could aptly defend her claim to amnesia: for Frederick was convinced that she had to have  _some_  sort of bolt loose in that head of hers to act as rashly as she did.

Robin's behavior was otherwise normal. She shared amicable conversation with the prince and princess, and ate her bear-meat without complaint. She had no explanation for her extensive knowledge of battle tactics, but Chrom and Lissa were thankful enough to not look the gift-horse in her talkative mouth.

And so she stayed with them, that night - and another, and another. And each night, Frederick took the longest watch, sure to keep both eyes open with her there. But by the time they reached the capital, and Robin was officially welcomed into the Shepherds, there was nothing he could do but spout the same tired warning to his liege.

"Naga's tears, Frederick…" Chrom scrubbed a hand over his face when the knight confronted him. " _Enough_  about Robin! She's staying, and that's my final decision. The Shepherds could really use a brilliant tactician - you can't deny that she's already been a huge help."

"Yes, but  _milord-_ " he began adamantly.

" _No buts_! I don't want to hear any more about hazards, or spies, or whatever it is you want to accuse her of. Her dedication to our cause has been more than enough to earn my trust, Fredrick." The prince fixed him with a warning glare, but there was no real anger behind it. Chrom knew that such suspicions were simply the nature of Frederick the Wary.

"Look…" Chrom sighed as his knight obediently held his tongue with a sour look, "We both know that Robin still has some… adjusting to do. With the memory loss and all. As much as you distrust her, the only person she's really managed to endanger thus far is herself." The thought seemed to make him worry, judging by his frown. "...So. If you really feel that she poses a threat, maybe you could keep track of her? Make sure she laces her boots on the right feet, and doesn't get lost?"

It was hard to tell if he was joking.

"Milord, surely my time is better spent serving yourself and Lady Lissa," Frederick protested regardless.

"Don't worry - you will be. Our new tactician will be responsible for keeping us alive in future battles! I'm sure with your watchful eye and expert training, she'll excel at it."

The knight prepared to voice his dissent, but Chrom's tone had effectively closed the matter. With a resigned " _yes, milord",_  Frederick excused himself to leave the prince in peace.

 

* * *

 

Just as proposed, Robin's training proper began in the dark hours of the next morning. The day the Shepherds were set to march. She tumbled out of her bed with a drowsy protest, and pulled on her boots while Frederick barked at her to quicken her pace.

"Jeez, Frederick, we're not in a prison camp…" she complained, attempting to smooth her mess of pale hair. The grogginess only made her look more unkempt.

" _Sir_  Frederick," came his icy correction. "And as your training instructor, it is my duty to enforce an efficient schedule: we have precious few hours each morning before the company marches."

Robin gave him a tired frown, but silenced whatever rebuttal had her tongue as she pulled on her coat.

Frederick wasted no time in launching into their agenda. The first hour was spent running, and while the tactician's endurance wasn't bad for a woman of her size, it wasn't great either. Frederick kept on her heels the entire time, reciting mantras about honorable military service. He expected her to complain, but even as her pace dragged and her panting got heavier, she didn't say a word. When the exercise was over, she merely braced her hands on her knees, blinking her dark-circled eyes, and awaited his next instructions.

The rest of their time was spent on basic weaponry drills; and Frederick had to admit, even by novice standards she was proving sluggish with her sword. How she had managed to survive on the battlefield was a mystery, because her form  _sorely_  needed work. They ended the session with Frederick doubting that Robin had improved at all.

Barely fazed by the morning routine, Frederick quickly set about preparing for the day's march. And when the Shepherds departed, he noted Robin's position at the back of the party, a satisfyingly safe distance from his royal charges at the front.

It wasn't until later that day that the knight was bothered to think of her again... and not, exactly, under pleasant circumstances.

"…Where's Robin?" Lissa had called, confusion lacing her voice as the scanned the convoy.

Frederick remained on his path, leading the horses of a supply cart while the other Shepherds glanced around.

"Huh, coulda sworn she was right here..."

"Did anyone check the wagons?"

"Her disappearance is most peculiar to escape my notice."

"Haven't seen her in a while, nah…"

"Roooobin!"

Frederick frowned. If the woman really had been a spy, and was now making her escape, she couldn't have gained much from her mission. A brief check to the supply carts confirmed that nothing had been tampered with or stolen. The only thing missing was her.

"Milady, please stay with me," Frederick rode over the now-panicked Lissa and ushered the cleric princess to his side. If - Naga forbid - the vanished tactician really  _did_  have an assassination scheme in the works, he wanted to be ready and within reach. He scanned the area quickly for his other charge.

"Milord?" he called when he realized the blue-haired royal was nowhere to be seen.

...But he did look down to see one of his cavaliers loitering on two legs. Stahl pointed a sheepish finger past the end of the convoy, where a manned horse was just disappearing over the hill they'd traversed. Chrom, of course - jumping the bow, as usual. Frederick saved his lectures for later, and pulling Lissa onto his own armored mare, took off in pursuit.

They doubled-back on the trail for about a half-mile before reaching the treeline of a forest, where Chrom was helping a very disoriented, familiar tactician onto his borrowed steed. Lissa sighed in relief from her spot in the back of Frederick's saddle.

" _Frederick,_ " the prince groaned as he steered his mount back onto the path, "I thought we were going to have your  _watchful eye_  on duty!" He motioned to the girl behind him.

Robin was currently draped over his shoulder, and already out like a light - but otherwise unharmed.

"What happened, milord?!" the knight demanded, turning his horse to accompany them back to the convoy.

"Well, I wish you could tell me - I found Robin nearly passed out on the trail! Stumbling along like she was dead on her feet.  _Look-_ " he gestured to the petite arm in his grasp, fingers already slack from the effort of clinging to his cape.

Frederick frowned. "Milord, this would seem to be an issue of endurance. She would do well to make more of an effort to keep up with the march. The others can manage it just fine."

"The  _others_  weren't awake until  _morning_  finishing the formation maps I asked for," Chrom narrowed his gaze. "And you started her training  _today?_ "

"Of course, milord," Frederick answered matter-of-factly.

"How early?"

"An hour prior to dawn."

...The implications of the statement caught up to Frederick as he spoke it.

"Ugh, Frederick!" Lissa piped up indignantly, "why would you be so mean?!"

"Tis not malice, milady."

"Yeah, but look at the poor girl! No sleep, probably no breakfast... and sore muscles I'll bet." She gave the limp tactician a sympathetic grimace.

Frederick fell silent as they ventured back into sight of the convoy. He did feel guilty for causing his liege the trouble and worry... but he couldn't bring himself to truly pity the sleeping girl on Chrom's back. Her physical weakness was not his  _concern_ , and in his personal opinion, simple drowsiness was easily remedied by a bit of tea and iron will.

The pair of horses bobbed along the path, with Chrom clutching the tactician's arm to keep her safely in the saddle behind him, as she nodded off against his shoulder.

"...Robin doesn't seem to know her limitations," he spoke up, earning the attention of his sister and lieutenant. "Or at least, she doesn't seem to remember them," he continued, "So until she gets a grasp on it, we are all going to be a little bit responsible for helping her regulate her health," the prince shot Frederick a pointed look, " _including_ getting enough sleep."

The knight scowled, flicking a cursory glance at the sad sack of a woman slumped against the prince. Limitations  _indeed_. But he nodded anyway.

"...Yes, milord."


	2. Broken Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The problems are only beginning...

The Shepherds made camp nearby that night. Normally, Frederick would have advocated to continue further, cover more ground before dark - but he didn't dare argue with Chrom's insistence. He also didn't dare refute the strict training haitus that Lissa had placed on Robin. Whom he was now tasked with watching. And so, watching was all he did... and after a good night's sleep and another few days of routine, hardy marching, it would seem the tactician was energetic as ever and ready for action.

It was slow progress heading north, towards the cold nation of Regna Ferox. There were plans to meet with one of the country's rulers – a Khan – with Ylisse's request for an alliance against the ever-growing threat of Plegia. Hopes were high that the honorable warrior nation would prove diplomatic, but even Chrom didn't know what to expect from a meeting with their secluded northern neighbor. As the Shepherds drew closer to the border, Frederick-the-Wary was rightfully promoted to Frederick-the-even-more-Wary.

Robin found him one morning, awake and hard at work much earlier than his normal schedule dictated. After a night of fitful sleep, Frederick was simply too restless to remain in the comfort of his tent. Instead, he strapped into his armor and busied himself with menial tasks until the rest of the company awoke - polishing and tending to weaponry that was already shiny and razor-sharp. He hadn't realized that the clanking of his armor plates was loud enough to rouse the newest Shepherd from her nearby tent.

"Good morning, Frederick," a polite voice greeted him.

He straightened up from where he was bent over his work in concentration. Robin stood before him, attempting to pull her hair into a high knot while she blinked the sleep from her eyes.

"...Good morning," he replied tersely, readjusting the blade in his lap to scrub at the other side.

Robin watched him with that spark of curiosity in her eye, no doubt learning the set of his posture, and how he favored his grip... and Frederick wished she would go away. His breath came out in visible, warm puffs as he worked, but the cold morning air was apparently not enough to drive the tactician back to her tent.  _Yes, NOW she wants to be up early..._  he grumbled internally.

Robin cleared her throat, earning another disapproving glance from him.

"So, I was thinking…" she began, fiddling with the hem of her sleeves, "that, um… I maybe could use some more... training."

Frederick paused his work to frown up at her.

"…Sir." She tacked on as an afterthought.

The knight huffed, going back to his task. "What makes you think so?" His tone was flat and impassive.

Oh, he knew  _exactly_  why she thought so – she nearly got herself killed in every minute skirmish on the road, and she was still  _far_  behind in the stamina department. But that wasn't his problem.

The tactician shrugged. "I'm not strong enough."

Such veiled arrogance... somebody pay this actress. Perhaps she wasn't  _aware_  that  _strength_  was the product of  _hard work._

"The Prince was most upset with the results of our last session," Frederick replied, not bothering to look up from his work. "Perhaps you should train  _by yourself_."

Robin grimaced. " _Jeez_ , alright. I can take a hint..." She stepped back. "I'll uh… I'll be over with the training... equipment, then."

Frederick sighed in satisfaction as she left. Regardless of how much he distrusted her, at least she knew her place here. Somewhere  _out_  of his way.

...Still, Chrom's request struck a guilty chime in the back of his mind. He didn't need to supervise her " _training_ ". Surely, there wasn't any trouble that impetuous woman could get up to in an empty camp.

Frederick finished his work with the weapons, and with nothing better to do, set about preparing breakfast for the company as the sun reached higher above the horizon. A few other Shepherds were beginning emerge from their tents, shuddering against the morning chill. Frederick regarded the leisurely sight with dry irony. The morning horn of a battalion marching with  _haste_  would surely prove a rude awakening for these rookies, should they ever come to hear it.

He turned his stern gaze to the looming clouds, noting the frosted grass underfoot. The first snowstorm of their trek was sure to hit soon as they prepared to head farther north.

Frederick finished his preparations, and decided to make a final round of the perimeter before rousing the laziest members of the company. He was walking past the equipment carts when he heard a crash and strangled yelp.

Nerves tuning to the sound, he quickly sought out the source. What he found was Robin, kneeling in the grass beside a broken dummy and an axe at least twice her size.

"What  _happened?!_ " Frederick thundered as he approached.

The girl flinched and peered over her shoulder. "Sir Frederick! I'm sorry!" She made a hasty effort to rise and stumbled, wincing, hands coming up to straighten her cloak, "I was... trying some new techniques, and... ah…" Her expression flickered with discomfort as she finally stood and surveyed the damage. "...Well, I guess my swordplay skills don't carry over…"

She took a steadying breath. "...I'm really sorry. It was dumb."

Frederick only pinched the bridge of his nose. Of course - of  _course_ SOMETHING had to happen with this one...

"The equipment can be  _fixed_ ," he ground out finally, already marching past her to hoist the wooden figure over a shoulder. "But I would  _suggest_  you refrain from attempting such stunts in the future."

"Yes, Sir." She winced as she shifted her weight, "…I think I'll stick to what I know from now on."

"Then do so," he remarked coldly, tucking the axe under his other arm.

He marched his confiscations back to the supply wagons, and left the sullen tactician without another glance.

 

* * *

 

" _ **FREDERICK**."_

The knight startled at Lissa's tone, and looked down to see the scowling blonde princess come stomping up to his horse.

...He had been hoping the march would go smoothly, after his private little morning hassle. Already, snow was beginning to drift down from the overcast sky - yet there was still a considerable amount of distance to cover before they reached Ferox.

"...Yes, milady? What's wrong?"

" _Where_  is ROBIN?" Lissa demanded.

He blanched at her tone.

"At the back of the convoy, I believe-" he answered evenly, despite the twinge of deja vu. To his credit, he  _had_  been keeping an eye on the tactician during the march. An occasional eye. From the front of the party.

"Yeah, well, she's not there."

Frederick frowned.  _Again?_

"Are you sure?" He turned around in his saddle and scoured the group for a telltale dark cloak.

" _Yes_ , I'm sure." Lissa narrowed her gaze at him, waving her staff like an accusatory baton. "And I have a feeling that  _you_  have something to do with it."

"Milady, I assure you - if she has fallen behind again, it is not because of me," he protested.

The princess paused her chastising at the sudden interruption of Sully, steering her horse between them.

"Hey- calm your pigtails," she announced, jerking a thumb over her shoulder. "Chrom found her. And you might wanna come have a look."

Lissa scurried off to the back of the convoy, weaving around frosted wagons with her mounted warden in her wake. Sure enough, when they got there, they found Chrom hiking up the path with one tactician, as promised.

This time, Robin was very much awake, averting her eyes in embarrassment as the prince carried her piggy-back style.

" _Milord_!" Frederick sputtered at the sight. "Why- What is the meaning of this?!" His royal liege, bearing a common soldier like a mule?! He just about had a stroke.

"Not  _now_ ," Chrom snapped, silencing Frederick's indignant rant. He came to a halt and gingerly lowered himself to the ground, sliding the tactician off his back.

"What's wrong...?" Lissa knelt down, frowning at the glimmer of unshed tears in Robin's eyes.

Robin cleared her throat and gave her friend a reassuring smile. "It's nothing. Just sore feet." She turned to hiss at Chrom: "You didn't have to  _carry_  me."

The prince ignored her with a scowl. "It is  _not_  just  _sore feet,_ " he growled. "She can't  _walk._  Something's wrong with her left one."

"Here, let me have a look," Lissa insisted gently.

It took another hard stare from Chrom before Robin reluctantly shuffled her leg over, hiding a grimace at the action. Lissa reached out to help with her boot, and was immediately stopped by a startled cry of pain.

" _Nnngh_! Okay stop-  _stop!"_  Robin clenched her teeth.

"Robin, I need to get the boot off... This looks bad."

"Should we try cutting it off?" Chrom asked from over her shoulder.

"We might have to..." Lissa sighed.

Robin clutched at her leg with a panicked look.

" _DON'T CUT OFF MY FOOT!_ " she wailed.

Chrom winced, "Peace, Robin-"

"Milord was suggesting the need to cut off the  _boot-_ " Frederick finally stepped in, eyeing her sternly. It seemed to do the job to quell her outburst. "...I'll fetch the shears."

Minutes later, he returned with the needed tools. By now, the other Shepherds had been drawn to the commotion; and stood watching while Lissa and Chrom carefully stripped off the leather boot in pieces, and Robin hissed in pain.

"There, that wasn't so b- ...oh my." Lissa stalled as she rolled up Robin's pant leg to finally expose her bare foot.

It was grotesquely swollen, and colored in angry shades of red and purple. Despite the inflammation, it was clear that the shape of the ankle was not entirely... correct. Robin whimpered as Lissa ran cautious fingers over the flesh.

"…Yup. That is  _definitely_  broken."

"Spectacular," Robin groaned weakly.

Lissa snatched her staff up out of the grass. It began to glow with a soft blue light as she held it closer to the injury.

"Don't worry, I should be able to fix you up just fine…" she trailed off, concentrating on her work. Robin sighed as the magic began to alleviate the pain.

After a moment, the princess clucked her tongue. "The break itself doesn't appear to be  _that_  bad... but everything around it is a mess! You shouldn't have been walking on it for so long!" she berated her friend.

"I thought it might get better on its own," Robin muttered, sheepish. "I didn't want to stop the convoy..."

Frederick snorted. Ridiculous. At least she had the right idea about not being a burden.

Then again… perhaps she  _had_ taken it too far. Frederick tapped an impatient finger on his shield while Lissa worked... if it were the princess that had been harmed, Naga knows he'd be coddling her in near distress. And  _milady_  was, frankly put, a crybaby about her own injuries.

He watched Robin instead, clutching her broken limb - and the teary-eyed look of relief she hid. Somewhere beneath the cold confines of his armor, his heart thumped briefly with sympathy at the sight.

"So when did this happen?" Chrom asked her.

Robin shrugged. "It started hurting this morning…"

"Yes, but what did you  _do_  to make it hurt?"

Robin shrugged again, avoiding the question. Frederick's brow creased as the situation clicked.

"…Would  _this_  perhaps be the result of your mishap with the training equipment?" he spoke up.

Robin colored slightly, and the royal siblings both turned to fix the knight with suspicious glares.

" _What_ mishap?" Chrom inquired in a testy tone.

"I happened upon her practicing with  _inappropriate_  weaponry for her skill level," the knight reported while Robin averted her gaze. "She managed to do away with one of the target dummies in her efforts."

The prince raised his eyebrows at her.

"I know, I'm sorry," Robin swallowed, "I just... wanted to get some practice in... and I wasn't sure how... and I broke the thing, and it fell on me, and I bent my foot funny, and-" She rushed through the words. "And I'm  _really sorry._ "

Chrom sighed, but a reassuring smile graced his lips. "That's not your fault… trust me, you should see how many I break in a week," He leaned to try and catch her eye, with a hand on her shoulder. "But you should really be more careful."

"And  _tell_   _someone_  when you're  _hurt_ , why don't ya..." Lissa grumbled by her feet.

"And that." The prince nodded. "If you needed help, why not ask Frederick? He's always running around in the mornings - and I'm sure he can catch any falling dummies."

...Frederick sat very still under the bogging guilt that was beginning to rear its head. Because Robin  _had_  asked him for help – surely, that made this fiasco  _his_  fault.

The knight glanced at the tactician, and they locked eyes. He took a deep breath, fully expecting the next words out of her mouth to condemn him for his callousness. To tell the prince just how  _helpful_  his knight had been.

"I'll… be sure to do that," was all she said. She gave Chrom a convincing smile.

"Good," he clapped her gently on the shoulder. "Now. As soon as Lissa finishes, we'll need to get back on the move if we want to make it to the border by sundown."

"Uhhh... She's not going to be walking  _anywhere_  for the rest of the day," Lissa interjected. "I'll need to brace this foot for the night for the magic to really do its stuff... Plus, she only has one boot now."

Chrom blew out a sigh and scratched his head.

"I suppose I could carry you," he looked down at Robin, "You're not heavy..."

"Absolutely  _not_."

The three turned to look at Fredrick's scowling form.

"Milord, you mustn't burden yourself," he elaborated. "She can ride with me."


	3. Cold Hearted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Frederick digs himself into his own holes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why yes the chapter titles are shameless puns, thanks for noticing~

 

Frederick was in a foul mood, and not just because there was an unwanted girl in his lap.

The company had nearly reached the Feroxi border, and many of the Shepherds were on edge. Between the stress, the unsavory bear-meat lunch, and his previous restless night, Frederick was already beginning to tire of the journey. However, he was personally determined to remain alert should tensions arise at the border fort that loomed in the distance.

Having to share his horse with the tactician was not helping his patience. Although Robin had kept mercifully silent for most of the journey, her intruding presence between the knight and his reigns was still unwelcome. Luckily, she was small enough not to impede his steering or his lance arm – but only just. As it was, she sat wedged in front of him on the saddle, her bound foot folded across the seat and her pale hair tickling his chin. He couldn't exactly sling her over the back like cargo.

Frederick would much rather have offered the extra seat to Lord Chrom or Lady Lissa, were Robin not the one incapable of walking. The knight sighed as he watched his royal charges plod along through the snow on foot, and he felt Robin shiver against his chest.

"Do you require a blanket?" he asked her for the third time.

She shook her head, but the shivering didn't stop.

The bitter northern winds had picked up, and while the rest of the party was properly outfitted against the cold (even a certain shirtless axe-wielder had been wrestled into a sweater, to Frederick's supreme satisfaction), it would seem that Robin's Plegian cloak was not as warm as it appeared to be.

The tactician hunched forwards, huddling in her dark sleeves as she shifted restlessly in the saddle.

"What's wrong?" Frederick demanded in a tired drone.

"N-nothing," her teeth chattered, "Your breastplate just isn't the m-most comfortable thing t-to lean on."

The knight scowled down at the back of her head. It wasn't  _made_  for leaning on. "Then perhaps I should fetch you a blanket," he offered flatly.

"I'm  _f-fine_ ," she snapped, straightening up. "I don't n-need you looking after me."

Frederick harrumphed at her words. Fine. Let her be stubborn, then.

The pair fell silent. Robin continued to shiver against the front of his armor, and as much as Frederick tried to ignore it, concern gnawed at him. The sharp plates were undoubtedly hard on her back, and by now the metal had cooled to an icy temperature. He was fine under his many layers, but his stubborn passenger had only her cloak to put between them.

He debated telling Lissa about Robin's condition. If anyone, the cleric princess would surely be able to coax her into accepting some warmer covers. Perhaps with a cushion and some hot tea…

The knight shook himself. No- he shouldn't be wasting his time with such thoughts. Robin had made her stance clear. If she was going to be stubborn about it, so be it. Why should he care if she was uncomfortable? It was his job to transport her, nothing more.

…Still, he caught himself idly wishing that he didn't wear so much armor.

* * *

" _Ylissian_   _royalty_? Hah! And I'm the queen of Valm!"

The jeering call echoed down from the snowy stone fort, and Frederick felt his heart sink. The Feroxi border guard was mobilizing, and the armed Shepherds that had ventured to the gate were now at the mercy of the general and her lancers. How this warrior could mistake the noble Lord Chrom for a lowly brigand both mystified and angered him.

"Milord, this does not look favorable," the knight murmured to his prince.

Chrom thumbed his weapon handle nervously as the general suggested settling the situation " _the Feroxi way_ ".

"Emm's not going to be happy about this…" he muttered as the knights along the wall lifted their spears.

" _ATTACK_!" The call rang out, followed by a flurry of projectiles.

Frederick tasted adrenaline as he watched the spears hurtle down from the fort wall. He kicked his mount into a charge - but somehow Sumia got there first, dropping down out of the blue to sweep the prince off the ground.

Frederick's relief lasted only seconds as he deftly maneuvered his horse through the barrage. A startled cry sounded from between his steel-clad arms as his passenger was jolted by the movement. He quickly yanked the reigns and turned them around just in time to intercept another two javelins – square in the back.

He grunted at the impact, but the spears clattered to the ground, causing no harm. Robin looked up at him in alarm as he steered his horse back towards the group and ushered them defensively away from the gate.

"Alright Robin, what do we do?" Chrom called down to the regrouped party. Sumia's unruly pegasus tossed its head as it cantered into a landing.

Robin surveyed the area, her sharp eyes picking out enemy movement. After a moment of deliberation, she voiced her plan.

"We need to pair up. The Feroxi have the flanks – so watch your partner's back." Robin paused, looking over the small group. "Chrom and Sumia, you two should stick together…" she began picking out a formation, "um… Sully and Virion… and Vaike and Miriel… Stahl, you take Lissa – we'll need you to ride in if there are injuries."

The green cavalier gave a friendly salute, reaching down to help Lissa up onto his horse. Virion followed suit, clambering onto Sully's steed despite her foul-mouthed protest. Vaike puffed out his chest and herded the mage behind him.

Frederick gripped his reigns, naturally displeased that the safety of the royal siblings was being entrusted to anyone besides himself. But Stahl and Sumia each shot him a knowing look, promising without words to take their position seriously. They were both loyal Shepherds; Chrom and Lissa would be safe enough.

"And you, Robin?" Chrom finally asked from the back of Sumia's saddle. He glanced at the advancing soldiers.

"Well, I'll be with Frederick, for now." She gestured to her foot like the obvious hindrance it was. "And we're going to take out those archers on the left flank. If you can handle it," she added, looking up at him.

Frederick glared at the distant archers in question, and resisted the urge to roll his eyes.  _Child's play_.

"Of course." He answered promptly.

Lissa peered around Stahl's shoulder, face etched in concern, "Robin, are you sure you'll be okay with no backup?"

"She will be fine with me, Milady," Frederick waved off the princess's worry.

"AND I still have my magic," Robin reminded the present company, brandishing a lightning tome. "We'll make quick work of them, and we'll meet back up inside the fort."

Her tone left nothing more to be discussed, and after a few hurried instructions on how to handle the right flank of soldiers, Robin sent the rest of the Shepherds on their way.

"Ready?" she finally asked her ride, straightening herself in the saddle.

"As always," he quipped, spurring his mare along the wall.

The archers didn't know what hit them.

Arrows plinked off of Frederick's armor as he picked them off one by one. He kept his eyes peeled, curved protectively around his passenger for fear that a stray arrow may find her. Robin, meanwhile, had her own crisis of personal space to navigate - trying in vain to garner a clear shot from horseback without dropping her tome.

"Please take –  _care_  – not to fall off my - * _ **grunt**_ * -  _horse_!" Frederick snapped at her between strikes as he skewered another enemy. He took the opportunity to haul her firmly back into the saddle.

"Excuse you - I can help!" she shot back.

"I do not - * _ **stab**_ * - require your  _help_!"

Robin shoved her tome back into the folds of her cloak and glowered at her metal cage.

"There, that should be the last of them…" Frederick panted. He scanned the area and calmed his horse with a gentle pat.

"We still need a way through that gate," Robin reminded him, in a tone that was almost sulking.

"Perhaps one of the soldiers had a key…" He straightened up in contemplation, gaze roaming the immediate area.

The tactician shrugged, "You can check…" she didn't sound convinced.

Frederick slid off his horse and began his search – with no such luck. Frustrated, he returned to his mount, finding Robin shivering from wind-chill in the empty seat.

"H-how are we going t-to get inside?" she chattered as Frederick led the horse towards the fort wall.

"You're the tactician, are you not?" was his dry response.

" _Tactician_ , n-not  _Magician_."

He was about to offer his own biting reply when a new voice suddenly spoke up.

"Um… excuse me… Sir Frederick…"

" _Who goes there_?!" Frederick whirled around, lance at the ready.

Kellam flinched and nearly tripped himself trying to backpedal.

"I'm sorry! Sir Frederick! I thought you'd seen me…"

Frederick frowned, relaxing his guard. The young knight's ability to go unnoticed in such bulky armor had always unnerved him – but at least he was an ally.

"How long have you been following us?" Frederick asked the armored enigma.

"Oh, well I was here the whole time… did you not notice?" Kellam hefted his lance, "I finished off a couple of those archers…"

Frederick blinked and cleared his throat. "...Thank you, then. Did you perhaps find any keys in doing so?"

Kellam shuffled his steel boots in the snow. "No… but I may be able to, um... help."

Robin tilted her head. "How s-so?"

"I know a little about picking locks," he shrugged, "I could give it a try..."

"By all means," Frederick gestured, impatient.

"Right…"

The footbound knight lumbered up to the gate, with Frederick pulling his horse in his wake. After a few minutes of quiet concentration, Kellam managed to crack the heavy door open with a resounding  _click_. He hastily stuffed his homemade lockpick back up his sleeve.

"Wow, Kellam, th-that's amazing!" Robin cheered from her seat at the boy blushed.

"It's nothing… I've just always had a knack for it, I guess…"

Kellam pushed the gate open farther, venturing cautiously inside. Frederick gripped his lance and followed, peering around once Robin and his mare were through the door.

Spotting the forms of more enemy soldiers not far off, Frederick pulled the horse around and prepared to vault back into the saddle – when suddenly Robin's eyes grew wide.

"Frederick –  _look_   _out_!" she cried, gaze fixed on a spot over his shoulder.

An axe struck his shoulderguard as he turned around to face the threat, the ringing clash echoing off the walls. His mare reared up at the commotion, without her master to handle the reigns - and with a startled shout, Robin tumbled to the ground in a tangled heap.

_Foolish girl!_ Frederick raged in frustration, defending her crumpled form from the axe-wielder that had apparently decided she was a better target. That first hit was one he could  _take_! This adversary was no veteran, his swings lacked the strength to so much as dent his armor. But Robin's ill-founded terror had cost them time.

Other enemies were now closing in as Frederick dealt a final blow to the axe-fighter. Kellam was doing his best to hold off their other side, but his weight and inexperience slowed him down. Out of the corner of his eye, Frederick saw Robin clawing her way out of the snowbank she had been dumped into – fumbling for her tome with violently shaking hands.

Frederick set to work dispatching the soldiers as fast as he could. It had been some time since he had fought on foot in a proper battle, but he was still leagues above these novice fighters. As much as he wished he could return to his saddle, he couldn't risk letting one of them slip by.

"Th- _thunder_!" a weak voice called from behind him, followed by an arc of magic that struck down one of the swordsmen. Frederick seized the window to stab at the other, finishing him off. Another mage-call from Robin was shot towards Kellam's adversary - but it missed... and the young knight was beginning to stumble from his injuries.

"Not while I draw breath-" Frederick cursed in an undertone as he yanked his ward out of the snow, eyes still on Kellam. Another powerful blow rang off the joint of his armor, staggering him - one more strike, and the boy would fall.

Scooping up Robin, Frederick wrangled his horse and hoisted them both onto its back in one fluid movement. He deftly slung both his passenger and the reigns in one hand, and twined them in a tight hold while his horse reared back. Twirling his lance into a tight grip, he aimed his sights at the enemy soldier.

This Feroxi  _worm_  thought he could take the lives of those under his protection - he would send him to the divines.

" **Pick a god and _pray_!**" Frederick roared as his mount charged forward.

The swordsman met a sudden, painful death at the end of his lance.

"Sir… Frederick…" Kellam wheezed, clutching at his battered side, "Thankyou… Sir."

"Keep breathing," Frederick instructed, yanking his lance back, and stowing it. Robin only shuddered - jarred by the experience, perhaps - still fastened on his arm. He swept the fort with a razor's eye, but found no more adversaries. "...I will fetch Lady Lissa."

Kellam screwed his eyes shut and nodded.

Across the field, the conflict was drawing to a close. Robin's plan had worked, and the rest of the Shepherds had cornered the obstinate Feroxi Captain, whittling away at her stamina as they dodged and cut off her attacks. With victory assured, Frederick was quick to pull Lissa aside, and lead her back to the injured knight.

While the princess tended to her patient, Frederick realized with a start that he still had a very unresponsive tactician clutched in a one-armed death grip across the front of his saddle. She was strangely quiet for someone so prone to complaints. Carefully rearranging his hold, he turned Robin around and attempted to look the girl over for injuries.

"...Robin...?"

Her eyes were squeezed shut against the assailing wind... and she probably  _should_  have been shivering - but she was disturbingly still in her tense posture. Frederick felt his stomach drop as he took stock of her blue lips and brittle fingers. He shook her gently, waiting for her to unravel and give him some chattering answer. But she didn't even flinch when her sheet-white cheek grazed the sub-zero surface of his armor plates. She didn't respond at all.

...Lady Lissa was going to  _kill_  him.

And Lord Chrom would spit on his grave.

"Robin?  _Robin_!" He hissed in a panic, glad that no one was currently around to see his lack of composure. He reached for her face, only to realize that the armor of his gloves was sure to give her frostburn. His chest constricted as he fretted quietly.

_Warmth_. She needed warmth. Without another thought, he turned his horse against the shelter of the wall, and began unbuckling his armor. It took precious minutes to work loose the straps, his gaze switching between Robin, and the direction of their company. His mind sped with the weighed options. Ride back to the group, and they still may be trapped outside in the elements, leaving his cold passenger another few minutes exposed. But wiggling out of his steel plates to do the job himself took  _time_. So he cursed and worked faster - the front of his breastplate finally clattering to the ground, followed by his gauntlets.

Once done, he gathered up the frozen tactician once again.

_Gah_! She was cold! Frederick winced as her icy skin reached him through the layer of his clothing. Her dark coat wasn't helping either – it was chilled and wet from her landing in the snowy muck. Gritting his teeth, Frederick worked the garment off, and discarded that too.

He wrapped her in his own undercoat, and cinched it around to cover her. Ducking her head into the warm center of his chest, he pulled her frozen hands up and exhaled in a steady rhythm, feeling the heat from his lungs spill into the fabric.

...It wasn't working.

Robin only shivered weakly, offering an incoherent sound. Her limbs were still rigid and her eyes were still shut. Cursing in desperate frustration, Frederick grasped for the reigns and kicked his horse into a gallop. The wind bit at his unarmored flesh as he chased after the rest of the Shepherds. He would have to hinge his bets on finding aid.

To his relief, the fight was over when he reached them. Chrom was negotiating the terms of surrender with civility, when Frederick rode up in a violent whirlwind, still shielding the tactician against his body.

" _Milord!_ " Frederick willed his teeth not to chatter.

The prince's eyes widened, turning away from his task. "Frederick, what's wrong?!"

"It's Robin, milord. We must get her inside-" the knight took a deep breath, his heart thudding. "She... may need a healer," He admitted with shame in every ounce of his voice.

He truly had failed his Lord and Lady. Such an easy battle, and he couldn't even manage to protect the  _one_ person that had been left in his care. And from the  _weather_ , no less. He was a disgrace as a guardian.

Chrom was quick to make his demands to the Feroxi Captain, securing them shelter inside. Lissa caught up, and turned her attention to her pale-faced friend. Someone managed to procure a bed, and hot water, and Frederick surrendered his charge to more capable hands.

The prince found him outside the room, slumped against the wall. At the sight of his Lord, Frederick straightened up at attention and attempted an apology, not daring to meet his eyes.

"Milord, it is entirely my fault. I accept the blame for my foolishness. I am loathe to have failed you." The words were rehearsed, but deeply genuine.

Chrom regarded him with quiet surprise... taking the time to blink at his earnestness.

"I don't blame you for anything," he managed after a beat, "...you saved her life."

"It never should have been endangered in the first place," Frederick explained, still anxious. "Had I not been so neglectful, I could have found safety for her  _sooner_ \- Or I might have caught her injury before it happened- Or perhaps if I had insisted on a blanket for the march, then-"

"Frederick,  _stop_ ," Chrom sighed, holding up hands to silence his jumping between tangents. "Look, I know it hasn't been a conventional task to follow, but you kept her  _alive_. That's all that matters. With the luck she seems to have, not even Frederick the Wary can do a perfect job, I'm sure..." the prince gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

Frederick opened his mouth to protest once more, but was cut off by another question.

"Speaking of which… where's your armor?" Chrom looked him over with a curious eye. A half-armored Frederick was a rare sight.

"It's... out beside the wall," he deflated with the answer. At Chrom's confused look, he elaborated, "...I couldn't warm her properly in it. The metal was too cold."

The prince graced him with a brief, dumbfounded expression before covering it with a cough.

"Ah, well then- I'll send someone to retrieve it."

"Do not trouble yourself, milord. I will go." The knight bowed and made for the exit, halting only when Chrom called his name.

"Frederick?"

"...Yes, milord?"

The prince rubbed his neck.

"Well, I didn't get to thank you. I know you still aren't fond of Robin… but I admire your efforts to keep her safe for us." He took another glance over the knight's askew clothes and missing plates... surely, he had to be cold himself. "So... thank you. Your commitment always makes me proud to call you my Lieutenant."

Frederick grimaced at his words. His prince was too kind, too forgiving of his blunders. But he would never sully such words with disrespect. Heaving a sigh, Frederick bowed his head again before turning to leave.

"If you say so, milord."


	4. Ill Fortune

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hard to put your finger on what's different, huh Frederick?~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy the short chapters while they last, this pacing was not well devised :'}

Frederick did not speak to Robin for three days.

During that time, the tactician recovered. Once the immediate matters with the Feroxi guard were settled, the Shepherds were given quarter by the east-khan herself; and the frostbitten Robin was tended to with hot baths and healing staves. Frederick watched from afar as her fingers and toes regained their function and healthy tones returned to her skin. As was seeming to become the trend - she quickly bounced back to her old self. But still, Frederick did not dare approach.

What had he to say?

Somehow, this frustrating recruit was becoming more and more his responsibility. Yet even though she technically now owed him her life, he couldn't shake the guilty feeling that  _he_  was the one indebted. He, who was never neglectful, never imprudent; he had allowed – nay,  _caused_  – some part of her suffering. A fault, however inadvertent, of his own prejudices.

Even Frederick the Wary had to admit, his distaste for an outsider was not worth these costs. Not when she continued to keep the Shepherds alive, and not now that she had sincerely befriended his beloved prince and princess. He saw Lissa by her bedside, where he dared not venture, laughing over some story or another. And Lord Chrom may wave off his apologies with misplaced forgiveness, but Frederick was determined to do better.

He would pay back his debt with Robin's protection, and he would not fail his role as a guardian again.

It was for this reason that he managed the will to boldly announce his  _own_  strategy for the Shepherd's next endeavor. They were preparing to fight as the champion team for the khans' showdown at the Ferox arena, hoping to win their allied east-khan the throne and resources to offer Ylisse aid. As the Shepherds readied their armor and weapons in the barracks beneath the arena, Frederick approached the tactician with his plan.

His strategy consisted of: Robin stays glued to him while he kills everything in sight.

The tactician, understandably, was not pleased by his suggestion.

"Absolutely  _not_."

"I insist."

"You've been avoiding me for days, and now you want me back on your horse? Are you daft?"

He glowered at her. "It is for your own good, not mine."

"Well, I refuse." Robin crossed her arms, her expression daring him to argue.

"And I refuse your refusal," the knight responded in kind.

"Hey, no – you can't do that!"

"Indeed I can. You forget who is the senior knight of Ylisse's cavalry, and milord's second-in-command."

"Yeah? Well I'm telling Chrom!"

"As will I."

They stood glaring at each other. Above their heads, distant roaring crowds cheered for whatever entertainment had taken the arena stage. There wasn't much time until the champion's challenge began.

"...I don't have time for this,  _Sir Frederick,"_ she finally ground out. "Listen, I'm thankful you didn't let me die. And now it's not your problem! I'm  _going_  to fight on my own - I need the experience. As the  _tactician_ , I can't afford to be the weakest link."

Frederick sighed in frustration. As much as he hated to admit it, she did have a point.

"I suggest a bargain, then," he said after a moment of deliberation, "If you remain by my side in battle," -  _and sit STILL,_ he wanted to add - "I will train you without qualm in our off-time. You will receive all the instruction and practice you need to excel, this I vow." Robin opened her mouth to spew an indignant response, and he held up a hand, " _And_ , once you are strong enough to hold your own – I will leave you be."

"I  _am_ strong enough to hold my own!"

"You are not."

Robin stepped back, her face a mix of outrage and distress. Her eyes blinked rapidly as she tried to regain her voice.

"You... you don't know what I'm capable of! Do I look like a child to you?! Just because I'm missing a few  _memories_  doesn't mean I'm some useless invalid!"

Frederick balked as she clenched her fists, and huffed a labored breath. Her face was flushed and her glare hazy.

...That wasn't what he had meant to imply at all.

He  _knew_ Robin was smart, and cunning, and full of potential. And yes, even possibly… loyal.

All the more reason to protect her – for his Lord and Lady. For the Shepherds.

Robin swallowed past her outburst. "I'm doing this on my own," she said scathingly, "You  _stay away_  from me."

And with that she stormed off.

Frederick stood there while the crowd cheered overhead and the Shepherds filed out of the barracks - most of them unaware of what had just transpired between the knight and tactician. He mulled over their interaction. He couldn't put his finger on it, but despite the stubbornness he had come to expect, something about Robin had seemed… off.

Chrom came to find him, still contemplating, and pulled his thoughts back down to earth with a reminder that he was needed on the battlefield. Murmuring a quiet apology, Frederick quickly saddled his mare and brought up the back of the party, riding into the thundering arena.

He knew what he had to do.

* * *

The clash of swords echoed through stadium caverns as Chrom lunged at his adversary. The roar of the crowd spurred them on, and the rest of the Shepherds waited for Robin's signal to storm the field and engage the enemy team.

Frederick watched the duel with a wary eye, but in his peripherals he kept tabs on a familiar dark cloak with pale hair.

When the time came, the Shepherds charged forth; following the drilled instructions of their strategist, and sweeping the right side of the arena in a merciless wave. Frederick followed at the back, his grip tight on the reigns while he watched Robin intently. Waiting to see. The battle was going well, but then he caught the sign he was anticipating.

First, she stumbled.

Then she fell.

He was at her side in an instant.

Robin braced her arms against the ground, lungs heaving as black spots danced across her vision. She had yet to be touched by enemy blades, and yet her body was betraying her all the same. Her head spun and her arms shook. She rallied her remaining strength, but still she could not stand.

Cursing herself, she felt hot tears well up – Frederick was right, she  _was_  weak.

Then the sound of hooves clattered against the floor beside her, and a large arm reached down to wrap around her middle, lifting her off the ground. Her stomach lurched at the movement, and she clung to the person that had pulled her up.

"Hold on," Frederick grunted as he wheeled around, pinning her to his chest. The front plates of his armor were gone yet again- it had seemed to work well enough last time. Instead, he wore a large shield was strapped onto his forearm - a guard for his passenger. In is other arm he clutched a lightweight lance, which he drove into the nearest enemy with an effortless sweep.

Robin moaned amidst the pounding in her head. It just _had_ to be Frederick that came to fish her pathetic self out of the churning dust. The knight systematically cut down foes, making his way to the safe side of the arena. The jolting of the horse beneath them was making her reel.

"Put me down..." she protested into the front of his shirt, her tone weak. Frederick didn't respond as he spurred his horse towards the dueling prince and his defensive line of supporters. Chrom had Sully at his side, facing off against the strange, masked champion; and it was clear that they had the advantage. The Shepherds that weren't finishing up dispatching enemies cheered him on along with the riotous crowd.

"Stahl!" Frederick barked as he caught up with the group.

"Yes, Sir Frederick?"

"Please inform Lord Chrom that I am removing Robin from the arena."

A small sound of protest emitted from the head tucked under his chin.

"O-of course Sir! Did something happen?" The cavalier peered at the wide shield with a worried frown.

"Her health requires it."

"… Right, Sir." Stahl gave into a determined nod.

Frederick turned and spurred his horse off the field without another word.

Weaving back down the hall to the gladiator barracks, he calmed their pace a steady trot, but the effort was not enough offer his passenger a smooth ride. Robin moaned again in distress as the saddle bumped and swayed.

"Take me back, Frederick…" she all but wailed.

"No."

"Please? A-at least take me back to Lissa! I'm… I think I'm  _dying!_ " she nearly sobbed.

The knight sighed as he pulled his horse to a halt. Sliding off, he gathered Robin up and deposited her on the ground. She gave a guttural groan.

"You're not dying…" Frederick insisted in a tired drone, reaching out to grab a nearby bucket and thrust it under her nose.

The tactician clutched at her pained stomach, before giving up, and losing her breakfast.

"… You're sick."

Robin groaned again, ducking her head down over the offered container as her stomach heaved.

Grimacing, Frederick reached down and deftly gathered her pale hair in his free hand, holding it away from her face. He waited patiently while she finished.

"Better?" He asked.

"No," she whimpered, "Gods… this f-feels awful…" She groped around blindly for her water-skin, and Frederick set the bucket down to offer it to her. "Thanks…" she mumbled, turning away to rinse out her mouth.

They sat in silence while she composed herself, screwing her eyes shut against the pounding in her skull.

"You should lie down." The knight insisted.

This time, Robin didn't have the energy to complain. She shrugged, and he took it upon himself to loop his arms under her shoulders and knees, and carry her to a medical cot tucked away in a corner. Once horizontal, she at least found it easier to breathe.

"How…" she cleared her scratchy throat, "How did you know?" she asked him, too ashamed to open her eyes. Because he  _had_  to have known - else what the hell was that rider's shield for?

"...I did promise to watch you. You were flushed and fatigued this morning – I suspected a fever." Frederick thought back on it, tugging off a glove and testing her forehead with the back of his hand. She flinched at the contact, but her flesh was burning. "...It would seem my suspicions were correct."

The tactician gave a heavy sigh, reaching a weak hand up to rub at her temples. "...Is that why you were so obstinate? About your  _deal_?" At least her tone was calm. Reasonable.

"…Not exactly," Frederick answered truthfully.

"Then why? I… I thought you hated me." Her voice shook ever so slightly.

"I don't  _hate_  you," he admitted with a frown. "...You are important to Lord Chrom and Lady Lissa – so your safety is important to me." He clasped his arms behind his back in a professional stance.

Robin gave him a tired look. "Haven't you done enough? They told me about what happened at the longfort… after I passed out…" Her eyes flicked unwillingly to his unarmored chest. "The last thing I want to be is a burden." Her words had a hard edge to them.

"You dishonor me - the debt is mine to pay," Frederick growled, determined to get through to her. "I realize I have been… unfair to you. It has caused you to suffer, and therefore caused my prince to worry. I will not rest until those wrongs have been righted – it is my duty as a knight."

Robin stared at him with an unreadable expression. After a moment, she dropped her gaze.

"...Fine. Yeah. A knight." She shut her eyes, and rocked her head back against the brewing migrane. "Well, if your offer still stands… I suppose I could... accept..."

He raised his eyebrows. Easier than expected.

"But I want to be training every  _possible_  moment-" she demanded with renewed vigor. "If you're going to be hauling me around like a sandbag. Because  _I_ won't rest until I can take down an army  _myself_."

...He couldn't tell if it was hyperbole, or just the fever.

"Very well," Frederick acquiesced regardless. "We will train.  _Within reason_." His mind flashed to Chrom's warning... he'd have his work cut out for him, supervising this novice so closely.

The tactician blew out a weak sigh. "Deal." She grumbled finally.

Satisfied, Frederick straightened up. "Now, If you'll excuse me, I must report to Lord Chrom. The battle should be won, by now. I will send a healer to tend to you…" He looked down at her small form on the cot, before glancing around the immediate area. Spotting a simple cloth blanket on a nearby shelf, he reached out and draped it over her. "Do you prefer Ginger or Chamomile tea?" He asked.

"I… I don't remember," Robin admitted, huddling under the blanket.

"Then I will brew some of each."

He turned towards the doorway, giving his patient mare a pat as he passed.

"Um… Frederick?" Robin said softly.

"Yes?" He paused to glance over his shoulder.

"Thank you." She said simply.

Frederick peered at her, but she had already laid back and shut her eyes again. She didn't expect a response.

And so he left her.

He found the rest of the Shepherds' celebrating their victory. The two khans proved to be in amiable spirits, satisfied with such an entertaining contest. The mysterious masked swordsman had disappeared, and Chrom and Lissa had been ferried off the field by a triumphant Flavia and her boisterous rival.

"Ah, Frederick!" Chrom exclaimed as the knight caught up to them. "Good news – we have our alliance!"

"And a new Shepherd!" Lissa piped up, pointing out a sullen-looking myrmidon.

Frederick nodded, "Milord, you fought well today."

"Thank you." The prince replied offhandedly. "Now what is this that happened with Robin? Is she injured  _again?"_  His shoulders were already slumped in sympathy.

Frederick shook his head. "Only a fever, milord. A simple healer's draught should help."

"...Oh. Well, it's good to hear, I suppose."

"Poor girl just can't catch a break, can she?" Lissa grimaced in pity. "At least she didn't get herself hurt trying to fight."

"Not to worry, milady. I had it under control." Frederick reported.

"Of course you did, Freddy." The princess rolled her eyes with a smile.

"In any case, I suppose we should find a healer," Chrom mused, "Is she back in the barracks?"

"Yes milord. I ensured her safety and comfort before seeking you out."

"Ohhh- I better go keep her company..." Lissa fretted. She grabbed her staff and hurried off in the direction Frederick had come.

Frederick stared after the princess, for once not anxiously inclined to follow on her heels. Meanwhile, the prince stared at him, silently wondering if Robin was again the reason for his change of equipment.

"You know," Chrom remarked to him after a moment, "I was beginning to worry that you and Robin would never get along."

Frederick raised his chin noncommittally. "I have no prejudice either way, milord. She is a Shepherd, and I will protect her as promised."

"Mm-hmm." The prince fixed him with a vaguely amused look. "So would you say that you at least trust her by now?"

Frederick flicked his gaze to is younger charge, considering the question.

"… To an extent, milord."


	5. Scare Tactics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's his duty as a knight to protect her from her fears... right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckle up for longer chapters, because hooooo we have a lot of ground to cover with these two. Starting with that first support conversation he owes her by now...   
> (and yes a few artistic liberties will be taken with the game's dialogue)

Robin regained her health, and Frederick kept his word, surrendering much of his daily free time to the training instruction he had promised her.

It wasn't as bad as he thought it would be; although, in his opinion, such time could  _still be_  better spent on his royal charges. Nonetheless, Frederick was surprised to find that the tactician was quite the eager student when she was well rested and in good health.

He watched her every move throughout their sessions, determined not to repeat his past mistakes and let her run herself ragged. Robin still hadn't mastered her sense of limitation, thus each stumble and bout of panting sent the knight into a worried frenzy; fetching water and vulneraries while firmly sitting her down to rest. Despite Robin's frustration with the interruptions, her mentor insisted that such measures be taken – he'd be  _damned_  if he let her pass out even  _one more time_.

Her progression showed, however. Her sword swings and magical flourishes became faster, more fluid, and her footwork improved until she was nimbly dodging hits - a great improvement. As the Shepherds marched south to accompany Exalt Emmeryn to a Plegian parley, Robin worked tirelessly to better her skills. And Frederick had to admit, the daily sessions did help to distract him from losing his hair with worry over the Exalt's safety.

"That's enough for today," he announced one evening on the southern plains. The Shepherds were set to accompany the border confrontation on the marrow – and Frederick wanted to ensure that everyone, tactician included, would be well rested.

Robin was looking winded, but still she graced him with a pout, ready to protest the early halt to their training.

"Your form has improved considerably," He cut her off before she could demand to keep going, distracting her with the subtle compliment. "The pace of your progress is remarkable."

Frederick didn't think much of the words. They were true, after all. But he wasn't quite prepared for the breathless, beaming grin she gave him.

...He blinked. It was the first genuine smile he had ever received from her.

"Th-thanks," she managed, her exhaustion finally catching up to her.

The knight was still staring at that smile.

"I feel like… I've got the basics down… by now," she continued, catching her breath as the wide grin faded.

After a pause, Frederick cleared his throat, "I would certainly say so."

Robin glanced up at him, a sly look in her eye. "But I'm s-so… tired… I think I'm dying…!" she brought a dramatic hand to her forhead.

"Ha!" the knight snorted, not sold on the performance, "You're exaggerating!"

' _Or at least I pray so…'_  he thought to himself as his scrutinizing eye turned grim.

Robin waved off the intensity of his gaze as she straightened up. " _Relax_. Of course I am!"

Another smile from her, more gentle this time.

"Honestly, you baby me too much…" she sighed, shaking her head.

"A knight does not  _baby_  his trainees," he scoffed, nonetheless reaching to offer her a water-skin.

"Uh-huh, sure…" she looked unconvinced as she took a swig.

The knight huffed. "We've been over this, Robin. It is my duty to make sure you do not overextend yourself. If you were to-"

"Yes, yes, I know," she grumbled, waving an impatient hand.

"Then do not complain…" he responded absently, turning her around to check her again for injuries.

Robin sighed again. "I don't appreciate being treated like a child," she muttered under her breath.

Frederick paused his assessment, tilting his head down to get a better look at her expression.

She turned away. A ghost of a smile flitted across his face at the petulance.

"Well," Frederick cleared his throat, "I  _had_  intended to begin your lessons on attacking from horseback…" He watched as her eyes lit up with interest. "...But if you are truly upset with my treatment…"

"No! No it's fine, I'd love to learn!" She answered hastily. "You can baby me all you want."

Frederick hid an uncharacteristic smirk.

"Then we shall start tomorrow," he announced, all business. "Provided that you get enough sleep."

The tactician readily agreed, and scurried off to her tent without further protest.

 

* * *

 

As expected, Robin continued to improve drastically.

When the parley inevitably went sour, Frederick took the opportunity to keep his promise – allowing her (against his better judgment) to lean out precariously on each charge and hurl lightning at their foes. He picked such moments carefully, isolating soldiers for her to target without risk of retaliation. And for all his efforts, Robin sustained not but a single scratch.

But still… he worried.

The weeks that followed were turbulent. After war had been declared, the Exalt and Shepherds fled back to Ylisstol to regroup and prepare. And there, in the capitol, Ylisse's state was further jeopardized by the assassination attempt, and the reappearance of the masked swordsman – or rather, swords _woman,_ as it came to be revealed.

Throughout this time, Frederick was at his wit's end with stress. He grew tight-lipped with Robin, and seldom found time for their training sessions. Between his primary concern of the Exalt's safety and comfort, the burden of commanding the Ylissian cavalry, and of course his responsibility to Chrom and Lissa – he was beginning to spread himself thin. Robin herself was absorbed in planning for the war with the prince and Exalt, but she still managed to watch Frederick with quiet concern.

When it had been decided – at Frederick's suggestion – to escort Emmeryn to a safer palace in the mountains, Robin was sure that the knight would shirk his normal supervision of her on the march, and attend the royals instead. But as the Shepherds set out through the mountain pass, he was at her side.

"Robin, come," he said offhandedly, reaching down to help her onto his horse in a movement that had become almost second-nature.

She blinked in surprise, but accepted his hand without a word – vaulting into her familiar place in the saddle. Frederick, as usual, was busy watching the prince and princess.

"I'm feeling well today," Robin reported, knowing that he would ask.

The knight nodded, glancing down at her before returning his attention to his charges. He spurred his horse into a trot, passing the line of wagons and marching Shepherds to reach the Exalt at the front. Deciding that she was in no immediate need of his aid, he moved on to scout the trail ahead.

"Well enough to march on my own, actually," the tactician prodded, "I really don't need a ride…"

Frederick only gave a distracted hum at her words. His gaze combed the mountainside, alert for signs of danger.

Robin sighed. "Never mind," she muttered.

The horse plodded along at a steady pace, a rhythm that Robin was used to by now. She pulled up her hood and leaned back against the knight, secretly thankful for the small cushion he always remembered to pack for this sort of arrangement. It was just like him to think of such small details. She reached behind her and adjusted it, happy to spare her back from the bulky steel ridges of his armor.

Frederick didn't think much of her actions, content that she was pacified enough not to bother him while scouting. The tactician folded her arms and watched the clouds, with his wrists looped unobtrusively around her hips to keep her in place.

The mountains of Ylisse were stunningly beautiful. The crisp air made even the distant peaks appear sharp and clear, and fertile grass and wildflowers were painted along the landscape. The clouds drifted along in lazy strides overhead, peppered with the shadows of distant birds-

Robin sat up suddenly, peering at the sky.

… _Those weren't birds._

"Frederick?" her voice inched up in alarm.

His attention locked on her, picking out what she was staring at. Tiny pairs of batlike wings stood out against the sky as they grew more distinct, revealing tiny riders and tiny clawed feet. And sure enough, on the hilly rise beneath the formation, a battalion of Plegian soldiers were heading their way.

"Gods above, an ambush!" Frederick hissed, rearing his horse, and quickly retreating from any line of sight. He turned them around and set off galloping at full speed back to the convoy.

"Sir Frederick?" Phila called down from her mount as the pair made it back, "What news?"

"Plegian warriors!" He answered with a stern air to his alarm, "Headed this way just over the rise!"

"Blast!" Chrom cursed, "We were fools to trust that Heirarch…"

"Well he's long gone now," Emmeryn spoke up, astoundingly calm. "And we will need to fend off these troops."

Lissa wrung her hands at her sister's side. "What should we do?! They'll be after  _you_  for sure..."

"I concur," Frederick said. "Your Grace, keeping you out of harm's way is of the utmost importance. Perhaps Sergeant Phila might bear you back towards Ylisstol?"

The falconknight nodded. "An excellent plan."

"Hold, Frederick." The Exalt held up a hand. "I'll not leave my brother and sister to face an enemy ambush in my stead."

"We can handle it, Emm-" Chrom insisted.

"Actually…" Robin spoke up, securing the attention of the group as she dug a map out of the saddlebags. "...If we work fast, there may be a way to turn this ambush on its head."

Her statement was met with questioning looks.

"What's the plan?" The prince asked.

"Well…" Robin slid off the horse and clambered up a ledge to get a good look at the mountainside: a high plane that dropped off into a gorge. Narrowing her gaze at the crags of the mountain face, she found what she was looking for.

"See those caves?" She pointed at the splotches of shadowed intents nearly camouflaged by the rough stone. "Perfect high ground. If we can lure the airborne riders in first, we'll have cover for ranged attacks. We can take the advantage." She scoured the surrounding area, mentally mapping the distance and angles before continuing, "...We'll need to swap some equipment fast, and coordinate a fake scout to lead them where we want them. They'll be expecting a full retreat down this path-" She turned, marking the trajectory with an arm. "...Perfect angle. Then  _bam -_ we ambush the ambush!"

Chrom rubbed his chin thoughtfully, "And the warriors on foot?"

Robin turned back to him with a small, wicked grin.

"...That's when the fun starts. It's all about  _timing_."

The Exalt appraised Robin calmly. "I have heard much about your talent in strategy… if you believe this will work, then we haven't time to waste."

"O-of course, your grace…" Robin gave a hasty bow. "Right... Cavalry, with me - get the wagons into cover. We need mages and archers at the ready-"

Chrom signaled down the convoy, relaying the following stream of orders.

"Shepherds- let's  _MOVE!_ "

 

* * *

 

...It was silent, as they crouched at their posts.

The positions had been arranged just so - divided between four caves. Each team had a vanguard, wielding a wind tome or bow for the wyvern knights, and footmen ready for the second wave. If Robin's plan worked, sowing fear and confusion among the enemy could win them a swift victory - and a window to escape before any reinforcements arrived.

Sumia was already in the skies, having volunteered to play bait. She would be leading the Plegians back any minute now, to trigger the bloodbath. They were ready.

But now that Robin herself was tucked away in a cave, looking out past the low overhang, something felt… wrong.

She glanced around at the narrow walls and her three companions. Chrom and Lissa were watching the entrance, the latter hidden behind a rock. Frederick had managed to coerce his well-trained mare into the back of the cave, and at his order, she stayed impatiently pawing the ground behind them. Right now he stood beside Robin, stretching his legs and hefting a shorter lance than his usual one. Amidst the rocky steps of the mountainside, this would be a battle better fought on foot.

Robin couldn't stop herself from fidgeting. Shouldn't Sumia be back by now? No, no – it was too soon. Why couldn't time move faster? She went over the plan anxiously in her head, listing the names of her fellow Shepherds in their teams.

_Ricken, Maribelle, Panne, Stahl,_

_Miriel, Vaike, Lon-qu, Sumia,_

_Virion, Sully, Kellam, Gaius,_

_Frederick, Lissa, Chrom, R-_

"Robin?"

The tactician flinched at the sound of her own name. Lissa was watching her with a worried look.

"Something wrong?" the princess whispered.

"No… it's nothing." The answer was not convincing.

Chrom glanced over with a reassuring smile. "You're not scared are you?"

"Of course not," Robin scoffed. "Just… on edge."

"I don't know how you do it," Lissa sighed, making smalltalk in the dark. "How are you  _never_  afraid when you've got bandits hacking at your heels all day long…?" The cleric princess shook her head, looking almost exasperated. As a healer, she probably was.

Robin shrugged, fiddling with the hem of her sleeve. "I guess it's just one of those things...? It's not like I can  _remember_  what used to scare me... So what is there to be afraid of?"

"Well, dying, for one," Lissa pointed out dryly.

The tactician managed a smile.

"And pain? Getting skewered by blades and spells?" the princess continued, still a bit incredulous. "I thought that first battle would've straightened you  _right_  out."

"It doesn't hurt as bad as you think," Robin recalled with a slight frown. "You get used to it..."

Frederick wanted to step in, to remind her that she  _shouldn't_  be getting used to it, and should instead getting AWAY from it – but he held his tongue.

"Yeesh, speak for yourself," Lissa grimaced, "that's some pain tolerance you've got."

"Hey, maybe I was trained for it..." she responded with a weak joke.

...Though something about the topic fell a bit too cold for proper joking.

It made Frederick stare, her words ringing in his head, and bringing out a strange, disturbing chord... Training and pain tolerance and Plegian colors... skewered by blades and spells... it brought to mind hazy memories of particular horrible things found in old war manuals and history books.

In the briefest moment, it almost sounded… like torture.

The knight shook his head quickly, dispelling such thoughts. He was being paranoid, with all this atmosphere of ambushes and Plegian tricks. Robin was safe, Robin was here, Robin would never… be hurt like that.

Not while she was with him.

"Get ready," Chrom whispered from his spot by the entrance. "I think that's Sumia up ahead…"

Knight, cleric, and tactician quickly sobered. Robin lifted her wind tome, the magic feeling foreign in her hands compared to her favored thunder. She took her position by the entrance and readied her casting hand.

The silent waiting was maddening… and each second, the rock walls felt like they were inching closer to her, closing her in…

_Get out, get out, get OUT-_

Robin clenched her fists, willing herself to get a grip. Just her luck that she should be one of the tome-wielders in her own plan… what she would give to get out of this  _gods-forsaken_  cave!

"Here they come," Chrom murmured, eyes ahead. The speeding shadow that had to be Sumia flitted across the ground.

"Where are the wyvern riders?" Lissa whispered, scouring what she could see of the skies.

"...They must be circling," Robin narrowed her gaze. "Funnel tactics. But it means they haven't spotted the falconknights..." She edged around the rock wall to peer out. "The footmen won't be far behind. On my mark."

Silence, again, as they watched for the telltale shadows. Listened for the clamor of footsoldiers over the rise, to seize the perfect window of attack. Sumia circled back as planned... the risky part that made Chrom grip his sword with white-knuckled intent.

... _There!_

The sudden dark form of a wyvern rocketed into sight to give chase to the pegasus scout.

Robin didn't grant them that chance.

" _Elwind!_ " she hissed, flicking the bolt of wind magic with as much momentum as she could muster. It was a flash of green that shot out from the cave... and blindsided her chosen target, tossing the dragon and it's rider down the mountain like a crumpled piece of paper.

Its harrowing screech echoed off the cliffs, stirring up distant shouts and movement. More shadows started shooting by. Robin hefted her tome and mapped their formation. With a second flash of green, she brought another one down.

Then the frenzy started.

Screeching and panicked bellows rang out, as the volley of magic and arrows followed. The perfect angle, just as planned - they could already hear the confused footsoldiers thundering over the rise, and what they found was a bloodbath.

Dragons careened into the cliffside, trying to dodge the shooters they couldn't see. Riders crashed and scrambled against the rocky terrain. Some followed the first down that hopeless fall into the gorge - wings tangled and broken. Some even crashed into the shouting, sprinting battalion of footmen, sweeping soldiers off the side of the mountain with terrified screams.

_Phase two…_  Robin thought, lifting her tome as the pandemonium reached it's peak. Now for the grounded fighters - she had them pincered along the path, a vulnerable flank. Whipped up in a disarray of panic and horror... she could see it on their faces from here, and read it in their movement, their guard had cracked. She glanced at Chrom and Frederick, ready to charge at her signal

Raising her hand, she sent another bolt of wind magic hurtling down to blast a crater in the ground - a distraction. This time, a pair of vengeful Shepherds were on its tail.

"YOUR END HAS  _COME!"_  Chrom bellowed as he cut down the first soldier in his path.

...Robin almost regretted telling the prince that battle-cries were allowed.

The other Shepherds of the charge came pouring, leaping, hurtling out of their caves. Furious cries drove the Plegians back, and blades followed. Robin picked off the ones that had backpedaled too close to the cliff - sending them off the edge one by one.

She could taste victory, as the Plegian numbers dwindled fast, and even began fleeing. Regrouped cavalry and a vengeful taguel began chasing them down to finish the job. Their leader - if she had identified him correctly - already lay slain. As the clamor of battle died down, replaced by pockets of cheering allies, Robin shook out her casting hand and lowered her tome.

"That's my cue!" Lissa leapt up, hurrying out of the cave to tend to a pale-looking Lon'qu that had just taken the brunt of the offense. Robin watched her picking her way through the rock piles - some of them newly shattered by the heavy falls of dragons.

"Robin, are you uninjured?" a familiar voice called up to her.

Frederick was hiking back up to the cave, his lance over a shoulder, and at his whistle, his mare came cantering happily out of the dark.

"I'm fine," she answered, shuffling off her perch to join him outside. The tight feeling in her chest began to evaporate as she stepped out from under the overhang. Relief...

...But then she saw it.

One of injured wyvern knights... hiding along the cliff face, yanking the reigns of a spitting dragon. The thing gave a furious shriek, above the grisly sight of their fallen comrades, to late to change the tide of their lost battle. It earned the attention of the Shepherds on the path below... but they wouldn't be fast enough. The rider saw Robin, and kicked his mount into a steep dive. A final sacrifice to earn a warriors death.

He could finish her off. And he knew it.

Robin backpedaled, flipped her tome open and flung her hand out without a second thought. It was down to a game of speed.

" _ELWIND_!"

The wyvern roared in pain a split-second before it struck. Wings blew out, and it spun into a heavy crash with the sound of a thunderclap.

_**BOOM-**_  The earth shook beneath her, grating rock ringing in her ears.

Robin didn't realize her mistake. She barely had time to register the falling rocks before she was tackled out of the way.

The moutainside crumbled in a sudden, shattering deluge.

Frederick gasped as he hit the ground hard, but he quickly rolled to cover the person in his arms from the flying debris. The rockslide only lasted a few seconds, but the sound of the tumbling stone continued to echo in his head in the ensuing silence. The entrance to the cave had collapsed.

Robin coughed. Dust invaded her lungs. Everything gone dark...

"Frederick?!" she wheezed, struggling to sit up.

"I… am here…" he panted quietly.

"It's- it's dark..." she craned her head, still coughing, trying to get her bearings. "What...? Where-"

He didn't answer, and it didn't take her long to pull her thoughts back together.

"Oh... oh  _gods_ … we're... trapped…" her voice shook.

"Peace, Robin, everything will be fine…" the knight responded, huffing a breath and letting her go. They were both uninjured - that was a blessing. One worry at a time...

They needed light. Frederick pushed himself up, and began to grope around for the saddlebags he knew lay discarded nearby. Robin, meanwhile, felt her breath hitch and her head grow dizzy in the pitch black and stuffy air. Splaying her hands on the pebble-littered ground, she shuffled forward until she met the wall of the cave.

"No… no, no, no…" she began to feel along the rock.

Frederick found the saddlebags, fishing around inside for the torches he always carried. He struck and lit one with practiced skill.

Robin flinched violently as the flickering light sprang to life. The cave was illuminated in the orange glow, revealing a pile of rocks where the overhang used to be.

"No, no,  _no,_ _ **no, NO, NO NO!"**_  Robin cried with increasing volume.

"Robin,  _be calm_ ," Frederick frowned. Lifting the light, he walked over to the pile and began tapping along the top. It couldn't be more than a few feet of rock, and the slant of the walled-in pile was far from precarious. They had able hands, plenty of air, hours of light, and friends on the outside - a bit of digging is all it would take to have them out.

Frederick sighed in annoyance and began wiggling rocks out of the top of the pile, sending them clattering down the side. He could already hear muted voices and scraping on the other side – excellent. With the Shepherds working in, it would take a fraction of the time. He breathed deep to calm the shock of adrenaline still lingering... there was no real danger here.

But Robin seemed unconvinced.

"WE'RE… GOING… TO…  _DIE-"_  she gasped out as her vision swam.

Frederick turned to stare down at her, appalled by the lack of composure. Robin was normally  _focused_  when the situation demanded it. He saw it during the terrifying midnight invasion in the capital: she had been the one to keep her cool with a sharp look in her eye, while he chased and shielded the royals with his boots half-buckled. Her performance under pressure was the one good thing he'd seen from her since day one.

But the face she wore now was…  _deranged_.

" _ **Get me OUT OF HERE!**_ " she shrieked, falling to her knees in front of the rocks. She plunged her hands into the pile, clawing at the rough stones and tossing them haphazardly aside. Her breath came out in short, gasping sobs while she dug; not stopping even when more rocks tumbled down to crush her fingers.

"Robin,  _STOP_ -" Frederick reached for her in alarm, trying to pull her arms away from the pile. She wrestled out of his hands with a strangled cry.

" _ **NO!**_ " She wailed, "I can't STAY in here! _I'll die- I'll die...!"_

"We are not going to  _die."_  Frederick snapped at her. "Look around, Robin – we are  _fine_. Lord Chrom is digging us out as we speak."

But the tactician only shook her head violently and continued to tug at the rocks in desperation. Frederick blanched when he realized her fingers were coated in blood.

...It was time for a more forceful approach.

Steeling his brow with determination, he clamped his hands down on her shoulders and began to drag her towards the back of the cave. Her cries increased in volume while she thrashed against his hold – although he was trying his best to be gentle. She began to ramble hysterically between gasps.

" _ **Buried** … _I need to-  _get me out just get me out please…_  gods… Naga please…  ** _please don't_** … the walls are  ** _getting_   _closer_** …!"

She collapsed into another fit of sobs, her eyes too wild with panic to conjure tears.

Frederick was at a loss, holding his vicegrip. What could he do?! He was growing more and more fearful of her state of mind. He braced while she twisted and flailed. Her body was shaking like a thing possessed, not far from hyperventilating. He needed to put a stop to it.

But  _how?_

Following his instincts, took a heavy seat against the cave wall, and pulled her closer.

" _Shhh_ …" he hushed her in a worried undertone, using his knees to corral her in. Robin's thrashing had already worn out, senseless hands no longer pushing against his armor, but falling limp with more sobs. It was worrying, to see the shift. He moved a hand to her back, pressing lightly to keep her close - still careful. Her chest still heaved, and her eyes were shut, but at least the physical turbulence was... containable.

Her forehead knocked against his chest plate as she shuddered and curled in on herself, and Frederick bite down on a curse. Freeing a cautious hand, he reached up and quickly undid the buckles. He had to let her be for a moment - and Robin braced her palms against the ground while he shrugged it off, curling her bloodied fingers into the dirt. He frowned at that, and added his gloves to the pile.

She flinched when his hands found her small shoulders again, but they were far kinder than the cold stone walls she feared. Warm, without the metal gauntlets. He bargained with her cowering pose - applying pressure to guide her back to him. It was the same stalwart posture that guarded her on horseback... but more inviting, as he pulled her into his chest.

Frederick's thoughts flashed to the times before, when he had gathered her so close, no armor between them. Once while freezing, another in the heat of combat. He didn't expect this to feel any different... but somehow, it did. And it struck him again that she was so  _small_...

He lifted a hand to the back of her head without thinking about it.

"You'll be okay, Robin..." he sighed in a low voice, "…I am here."

The knight frowned at himself, wondering if this was the right thing to say. It  _felt_  right…

But his thoughts stalled as a pair of shaking hands hooked around his back, and twisted into the fabric of his shirt. A small face buried itself into the base of his neck. A small body fitted itself snugly against his torso.

Robin clutched at him desperately, finally managing to calm her shaking sobs enough to speak.

"…I'm… scared…" she whispered brokenly.

Frederick felt a pang of unexpected heartache at her breathless words. She sounded so…  _fragile_. And in that moment, he wanted nothing more than to bring her comfort. He wanted it fiercely.

His hands seemed to move on their own - a proper embrace, rubbing slow circles on her back, and sifting gently through her hair.

"Don't be..." he murmured, "No harm will befall you…"

_Not with me..._

Robin succumbed to another round of sniffling sobs, tears finally reaching her past the shock. Her grasp on him tightened. But the frightening delirium seemed over, as she leaned into the comfort of hold. Hiding in it, listening.

Frederick searched for other things to say.

"There is no need to be scared… I will guard you… I will get you out… everything will be okay…"

He wracked his brain for anything else. Robin exhaled unsteadily into the front of his shirt.

"...You are strong, Robin."

She sniffed and managed to glance up at him, just for a moment. Screwing her eyes shut again, she slumped back into the safety of his shirt.

"… I am a c-coward," she whimpered.

"Not so," the knight insisted, returning to the motions of rubbing her back and petting her hair. "A brave soldier faces their fears, just as you are facing yours."

Robin shook her head against him.

"I'm no brave s-soldier…" she sobbed, "To be so scared of a s-stupid cave... I can't…" She paused to sniff and level her voice. "I d-don't have your strength…"

Frederick sighed.

"...This knight is not without his own demons, Robin. Fear can be overcome."

She swallowed.

"Tell me…?" Came her soft request.

Frederick shifted, using a hand to tilt her chin up so that he might see her face. Distress still glimmered in her eyes. His were thoughtful.

"I will show you," he decided.

He reached back and gently pried her hands from his shirt, gathering her wrists and replacing them in her lap with a watchful look at her. When she didn't immediately break down, he proceeded.

The torch still flickered where it lay on the floor, illuminating the knight's long arms as he stripped them of their remaining armor. Robin remained seated between his knees, watching warily. Once finished, he methodically unfastened his jacket; folding it before setting it aside.

Frederick hesitated, and locked eyes with Robin's confused, anxious stare. Taking a deep breath, he undid the buttons of his shirt, and tugged it off in a fluid movement.

Robin gasped.

Painted across the muscles of his torso were splashes of puckered scar tissue. She had expected the knight to have at least a few marks from battle wounds, but these were… different. They looked older – more painful. And the shapes far more grotesque than the clean nicks of weaponry.

Frowning, she reached out to gingerly trace a curved path on his shoulder. The shape of the disfigured flesh suddenly clicked.

Those were  _teeth marks_.

"What… happened…?" her horror-stricken voice was barely audible.

Frederick watched her with a veiled expression, feeling the tough flesh of his scars fold and stretch as he shifted his weight and rested his forearms on his knees. He could afford her a story from his past.

"When I was a boy," he began quietly, "I lived in a small village, high in the southern mountains. I had always been terrified of the giant wolves that roamed that region, for good reason. One day, one of the starving beasts was desperate enough to venture closer to town…"

His eyes were unfocused as he recalled the memory. The nightmare of his youth.

"It dragged me off. By the time my parents and the other townsfolk got to me, the damage had been done – not even the healers' best staves could repair all of it..."

Robin sat listening in shock, her gaze sweeping over the marks of mutilation in front of her. Frederick the Wary had the strength of ten men – but across his broad muscles and tall stature, it would seem he bore the scars of ten men as well.

The knight took a resigned breath before concluding his tale. "I have known the pain of being mauled within an inch of my life. And it is terrifying. But to this day, I will face that fear. I may not have a taste for bear, but I will hunt those brutish carnivores _all day long_."

Robin stared at him in silence. Frederick was brave; he was unyielding. She wondered if she would ever find such strength.

"I'm sorry," she finally whispered, for there was nothing else to say.

* * *

As Frederick predicted, it wasn't long before the Shepherds were pushing through the rocks from the outside; calling in through the cracks to verify that they both were unharmed.

Robin calmed considerably as the sunlight leaked through and the passage began to open up. But while they waited, her guardian kept her in his embrace – letting her draw comfort from him like an oversized teddy-bear.

Or rather… a Freddy-Bear. The tactician mustered a tiny laugh at the thought.

Frederick, meanwhile, was preoccupied cleaning and binding her fingers with a water skin and spare bandage from the saddlebags. Satisfied, he set her back and pulled his shirt back on. Robin's cheeks burned briefly as it finally hit her that their position was terribly indecent; but the knight didn't notice. He folded her back into his arms once the buttons were refastened, determined to help her wait out the end of her torment.

It was his duty. As a knight. He had to be sure the tactician was safe and comforted. She had to be cared for, in her time of fear. And that's what knights... did.

Frederick's arms tightened around her. His role as a protector had never quite struck him so... viscerally. He couldn't stop thinking about how the shoulders he held were slender and delicate compared to his… and that the pale hair under his fingers was incredibly soft.

As the hole of sunlight opened wider, he quickly chased such thoughts from his head.

With a sizeable window, he ushered Robin over and gave her a boost. Chrom's hand grasped hers, and helped her clamber out of the rocky debris. Frederick strapped back into his armor, hoisting his saddlebags as he followed.

The sight of her relieved face etched itself into his memory. It was at the forefront of his mind while Chrom stood thanking him for once again ensuring Robin's safety.

"We were all worried," his Lord was saying, running a hand through his hair. "We couldn't hear much from our side, but it sounded like a lot of yelling in there. I'm just glad you're both okay..."

"Milord, I would never allow such a paltry end to befall Robin or myself, you can rest assured."

"I have every confidence." The prince grinned.

He turned to observe the tactician from afar, prompting Frederick to follow his gaze. Robin was sitting patiently while Lissa healed the cuts on her hands.

"Sometimes I'm surprised... she's come a long way from that daredevil amnesiac we found in the field," Chrom mused aloud.

Frederick nodded his assent, observing his charge with quiet pride. The knight cleared his throat with conviction, allowing himself a small smile.

"She has grown strong, milord."


	6. Hot Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even the strongest can't always escape the perils of war...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did have a few notes about the last chaper, in response to speculation:
> 
> Firstly, that Robin's claustrophobia (or perhaps taphophobia) in this story - while not taken directly from canon - is related to and inspired by a popular fan theory about the franchise!  
> The theory claims that the Fell dragon Grima may have been formed when the Earth dragon antagonists from Marth's time (Chrom and Lissa's ancestor!) were sealed in the earth by Naga. According to the theory, Grima's twisted psyche, many eyes and limbs, and decrepit appearance may have come about from the warped fusion of many malicious, doomed dragons trapped for thousands of years in a tomb at The Dragon's Table. Since Robin shares the heart of Grima... it struck me that *this* Robin may have inherited some ingrained, ancient phobias of being buried alive.
> 
> Secondly, that there has been some correct speculation by readers regarding many of the smaller details included in Homeostasis that I wanted to address! Things like Kellam's aptitude for lockpicking, the types of soldiers and terrain present in the battles, moments of backstory and some dialogue are all nods to actual game mechanics and content! I like to reference everything from equipment, to EXP strategies, to game maps when planning these chapters - artistic liberties aside, I aspired to the goal that much of the mechanical plot of Homeostasis could be recreated in the game. So keep an eye out for more!
> 
> Thanks again for reading, and may the story continue!

* * *

 

Frederick had never been a man for outings – but this was an exception.

The knight stood patiently in the corner of one of Ferox's prided armories. The Shepherds were busy preparing for war alongside the allied Feroxi soldiers, sent to escort the reinforcements from their northern neighbor. Emmeryn herself had chosen to return to Ylisstol with her royal guard – against everyone's wishes. And although she had assured the group that it was the best decision, they were all anxious to return to the capitol with aid.

But while the Feroxi army mobilized, there were still a few last-minute things to take care of. And while Frederick conducted such errands in a manner professional as ever; Lissa was another story.

The princess clapped her hands in excitement as Robin inspected herself in the mirror.

"Oooooh, you look so great!" Lissa gushed, manually spinning her around.

"You think so?" Robin straightened her hem with a wide smile plastered on her face. A Ylissian Master's Seal was pinned proudly on the front of her newly-tailored coat – recognizing Robin's new position as a ranking officer.

Frederick watched the two girls. They had both grown so much in such a short time. He wasn't surprised when Chrom insisted that Robin be evaluated for the promotion. Frederick had given his own glowing recommendation, along with what few other high-ranking knights Ylisse could spare for the occasion. She passed the council's endorsement with flying colors, of course. The ceremony was small, but Robin looked fit to burst with pride regardless. It almost reminded Frederick of his own knighting, though not nearly as grandiose in Ylissian tradition.

She was "Grandmaster" Robin now. Ready to dictate the plans for Ylisse's forces en masse.

And of course, the prince and princess insisted that she be fitted for the proper armor to match her station. Chrom had only recently been given his own set (finally allowing the tailor to cover his chronically-unprotected right bicep) - and now it was Robin's turn. The tactician twisted experimentally in the mirror, reveling in how the smooth, engraved metal plates glided over each other. The royals had demanded nothing less than the finest quality.

Her coat had also been mended, and lined with protective, gilded leather. It spun out in a flourish when she turned in a circle, unsheathing her iron sword and giving it a few swings.

" _Ahem-_ " Frederick cleared his throat, interrupting the girls' chatter. Two pairs of curious eyes turned his way.

"I hope you don't intend on using that in battle," He told Robin sternly, eyeing the worn-out weapon in her hand.

"Why not? I've been working on my swordplay..." She swiped and parried at the air – her technique had greatly improved.

"I don't know Robin, that one looks pretty old…" Lissa wrinkled her nose as she appraised it.

Robin shrugged. "I'll grab a new one before the next battle – we've got tons," she explained, spinning the handle.

Frederick shook his head. "Wait here," He instructed.

The knight ducked out of the shop to find his horse, returning a minute later with a large parcel under his arm. He offered it to Robin without a word.

"...For me?" she asked.

He nodded, gesturing for her to open it.

She unbuckled the binding and folded back the cloth, gasping at what she held in her arms.

" _Wow_ , Frederick!" Lissa squealed beside her, "Where did you  _find_  that?!"

The pristine Levin sword glinted in its hide wrapping. It let off a crackle of static as Robin gripped the handle, lifting it up to examine the polished sides.

"I believe we purchased a few such pieces of weaponry from a travelling merchant... This one seemed to suit you, I tested it myself." Frederick reported, arms once again clasped behind his back.

"It's beautiful…"Robin murmured, admiring the blade.

Frederick allowed himself a small smile. "In the hands of a practiced mage, I have no doubt it will be truly devastating." He watched as the sword let off a small shower of sparks, responding to Robin's honed magic. "… Use it wisely," he added.

 _Use it to stay alive_ , was what he wanted to say.

"Frederick… thank you. I love it."

Robin took his arm and graced him with a sincere smile, before carefully refastening the cloth around her new blade. The knight blinked, feeling his face heat without his permission.

Frederick cleared his throat again, "...We should be off, then. There are more preparations to make before we march."

He formally thanked (and paid) the armorer for his services, before leading his charges back to the Shepherds' camp. Once outside, he discreetly tested a hand against the flushed skin of his face – concerned that he may be coming down with a fever. He frowned as it subsided. Perhaps it was nothing.

Frederick dropped his hand, not knowing that a certain gossipy princess was giggling behind his back.

 

* * *

 

By the time the Shepherds were ready to march, the Feroxi Army at their backs, Basilio's scouts had returned with sobering news.

Ylisstol had fallen – and the Exalt taken hostage.

Immediate orders were given to redirect the troops. At Chrom and Flavia's command, they prepared to march straight into Plegia.

For all his recklessness, Chrom was surprisingly focused. In a way, he had almost expected something like this to happen; and now that it had, there was nothing left to do but act quickly and efficiently. He and Robin spent their nights pouring over maps and discussing every possible strategy. With a grandmaster tactician, and the might of Regna Ferox at their command, the prince was confident that they would save his sister before her scheduled execution.

But the same could not be said for his Lieutenant.

If Frederick had been stressed before, it was no comparison to how he felt now. He hovered over the royal siblings, and constantly demanded that the soldiers increase their pace. He may not have been assigned to Emmeryn's royal guard, but the guilt and anxiety of imagining her at the mercy of her captors was nonetheless eating him alive. The responsibility of looking after Chrom and Lissa was  _not enough_  – surely, he thought, there was  _something_  he could have done to protect the Exalt.

Frederick paced the camp like a restless ghost, leaving clean tents and polished weapons in his wake. He traded his sleep for hours of extra training, but even that was not satisfactory. As the army began marching into a warmer climate, the heaviness of his brow deepened at the same rate of his sleep-circled eyes.

He also worried about Robin, despite the fact that she was the last person he should be concerned with. The tactician was in no danger; she was surrounded by capable allies and able to fend for herself. She had the endurance to march through harsh terrain, and was plenty preoccupied drilling the Shepherds and Feroxi infantry in her free time. She didn't need assistance in her training anymore; and she most certainly didn't need an armored babysitter and a ride on horseback.

But still, Frederick could not shake his desire to keep her nearby.

Perhaps it was simply conditioning. After so much time spent guarding her, it made sense that the habit was not easily broken. But it was more than that. No longer being responsible for Robin's care  _unnerved_ him – and Frederick could not afford to lose what little composure he still had.

He watched her on the march, walking alongside the prince and talking his ear off about war tactics. Sometimes, she carried a strategy book, flipping and scribbling through the pages while her feet followed the caravan. Sometimes, she stumbled over a rock or branch while her eyes were glued to the text. And every time, Frederick would stop himself from spurring his mare to her side, and lifting her back into her old spot in the saddle.

 _Where she belongs_. He thought one day.

The knight frowned, pulling his horse to a halt. Where on  _earth_  did that idea come from? Even if he still felt responsible for her safety, she did not…  _belong_ … with him.

…Right?

No – the idea was silly. She belonged where she was needed: as the Ylissian royal grandmaster. Whether that was on the front lines, safe beside a partnered comrade, or wedged between the bickering khans, her rightful place was one of necessity. The days in which she had "belonged" on the horse of a guardian knight had passed.

So why did his saddle feel empty? And why did the world seem right in those moments when he stood watch over her war meetings, silent and within arm's reach?

Frederick could muster no explanation.

The knight observed her now, from a distance, the line of marching soldiers passing his stationary horse while he remained occupied. She was smiling at something Chrom said, having shut her strategy book to give him her full attention. The prince made some gesture to accompany his story, and Robin's smile widened into a fit of laughter.

It was the first time Frederick had seen her laugh in days. But sight made him…  _frustrated_.

Frustrated that at that moment, she belonged right there, laughing with Chrom in a small moment of happiness and optimism; instead of by his own side.

Frustrated that there was nothing he could do to make her belong with  _him_.

…Or belong  _to_  him…

Frederick flinched as the words swam unbidden into his mind, and dropped the train of thought like a hot coal. Such an… inappropriate…  _un-knightly…_  thing to think. A knight's charges should never be thought of under  _possessive_  terms...

If anything,  _he_  was the belonging: he was his Lord's right-hand man, his Lady's servant. Under orders to protect the Shepherds, and their tactician. He should have no other thoughts but those.

But as Frederick continued to watch them, Robin smiling at his prince, his strange frustration only increased. Perhaps now was the time to do something, to pursue some peace of mind before he worked himself into a fitful mood… It couldn't hurt. All things considered, he deserved a bit of stress relief on the long march.

Convincing himself of his decision, Frederick directed his steed towards the pair. They both turned at the sound of approaching hooves.

"Ah, Frederick! We were just talking about you," Chrom grinned up at him.

"Pray tell, milord." The knight raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, just a few stories about growing up with a steel-plated nanny…"

Frederick set his jaw. "Milord, I thought we had come to an understanding that-"

"Yes, yes - that you are in no way, under any circumstances, a  _steward."_

"Precisely."

"But what about that time with the tea party-?"

Frederick cleared his throat loudly. "Twas a  _knightly_  duty, milord. The princess required my service."

"Oh, but of course…" Chrom's smile only widened.

Robin's quiet snickering distracted him from the prince's teasing, and he cast a glance at her averted eyes and smothered grin.

He had a proposition to make.

"Milord, if you are quite done with childish stories, I had wished to offer our tactician a ride to scout the area ahead. We are heading into a desert, after all." Frederick said, glancing around at the cracked, dry path and sparse vegetation.

"Sign me  _up,_ " Robin startled him with her bright eyes and earnest turn. She stuck out a hand for his, using the leverage to hoist into the saddle, and settling into her old seat contentedly. "I thought you'd never ask," she smiled up at him.

Chrom gave her a strange look while Frederick recovered from the surprise.

"What? I'm sick of walking!" Robin defended herself. She gave the prince a smug salute as the horse kicked up into a trot, leaving him in the dust.

Frederick was still stunned.

Robin was right here, in his care once again… and all he had to do was ask. It really was  _that easy_.

He found himself fighting the urge to grin.

"Ahh… I missed riding with you," Robin stretched her limbs, having set her book open in her lap. "I know I used to complain… but this is nice. It's calming."

She leaned back against him, as if nothing had changed. Finally allowing himself a satisfied smile, Frederick reached into his saddlebag and offered her the cushion that he still kept on hand.

"…You are always welcome to ride with me," he admitted, his arms finding their familiar position on either side of her body, grasping the reigns loosely.

She hummed happily beneath his chin, cracking open her book as she reclined comfortably. "I'll have to take you up on that more often."

Frederick's chest swelled with contentment. He didn't even care that Robin wasn't using her time with him to scout the terrain, like he'd suggested. Just having her close again was enough to ease his mind.

This is how it should be.

He knew that the idea was impractical, inexplicable; but for the first time, Frederick was completely willing to ignore that part of his brain. It was a small sacrifice to make for the peace that her company granted him. They rode in companionable silence as his horse wandered farther ahead of the convoy.

"So, Frederick…"Robin spoke up after a few minutes, "...Is it true that you first taught Lissa how to tie her pigtails?"

The knight sighed. "I suppose Lord Chrom told you that?"

"Mm-hmm." She peered over her shoulder, trying to read his expression. "Well, did you?"

"… Yes."

"Oh my  _gods._ " She collapsed into a small fit of giggles.

"I fail to see how this is amusing..."

"How is it  _not?_ " Robin giggled, "Frederick, where do you  _learn_  these things?"

He straightened his posture. "I make it my business to learn them. I asked the handmaids in the castle to teach me the proper techniques, should it come of use. I was the youngest knight in service to the royal family, and Lady Lissa wasn't the most cooperative child. I learned many skills to help with her care."

Robin snorted, shaking her head at the thought. "Well, I hope you plan on having daughters in the future."

Frederick blanched.

"Why would- what makes you say that?!" he sputtered unprofessionally. A rampant blush was already spreading across his face at her words, and he was severely thankful that she had turned back around.

"Because you'd make a good father," the tactician chuckled, "I doubt any of the other men here know how to help a girl with her hair."

Frederick opened and closed his mouth, unable to formulate a response. If possible, he reddened even more. He had never seriously considered having a family… becoming a father…

"Or, you know, you could grow yours out - you'd be lucky," Robin continued, unaware of his plight, "I've been hard-pressed to manage mine without ending up just wanting to chop it all off..." She shook her head, her novice pigtails swaying loosely. "You should have seen my attempt at a braid the other night – it was a disaster."

Frederick coughed, trying to regain his composure. "Braids are hardly a- a difficult endeavor."

"Hah. Speak for yourself," Robin grumbled, toying with her split-ends.

Frederick hesitated, wondering if he should voice his next request.

He cleared his throat decisively, looping up his reigns to free his hands. "… May I…?" He gestured with an open palm.

Robin took the opportunity to crane her neck around in surprise, but finding his offer serious, she shrugged and dropped her gaze. "Uhhh... sure… go ahead."

"Hold still," he instructed.

The horse ambled along with her two distracted passengers; one trying in vain to concentrate on her book while the other tugged off his gloves and gently gathered up her hair. Frederick worked with care, first removing her two ties and doing his best to untangle the strands with his calloused fingers. He leaned in and began weaving the wayward locks at her temples into a pair of secure braids, before tucking them into the large pale fountain that he tied up expertly at the back.

"…There," he announced when he was finished.

Robin skimmed her curious fingers along the decorative ridge, all hints of teasing gone. "Wow… I wish I could see it… It feels great!" She gave her head an experimental shake, reveling in the feeling of having the pale tresses out of her face.

"I'm glad..." Frederick replied, resisting the urge to sweep a hand over the single lock that refused to be bound properly. "I should hope it serves you well."

"You bet it will." Robin looked up to meet his gaze with excited eyes. "Can you teach me how to do it?"

Frederick averted his own. It seemed wrong that he should feel so  _happy_  to see that look on her face. Part of him wanted to confess that he would willingly braid her hair every day, if she asked him to.

But for now he simply said, "Of course."

 

* * *

 

The air was mercilessly hot as the company began their march into the deserts of Plegia.

The Shepherds and Feroxi troops were en route to the Plegian capitol, and on schedule to arrive before the public execution that Gangrel goaded them with. But another threat had surfaced: a dangerous, heretical faction from the underbelly of the enemy nation – the same group that had organized the first rogue assassination attempt against the Exalt and her siblings.

The Grimleal.

And if there was one thing that Frederick hated more than the desert, it was fighting a fell-dragon-worshiping  _cult_  in the desert.

The first enemies had appeared like mirages across the dry, cracked wasteland; chasing a small person through the sands and rubble. When said person turned out to be a child tailed by a mercenary guard, the prince and grandmaster decided that the time had come for the Shepherds to step in.

Frederick was opposed to the idea from the start; but when he was ordered – for the first time – to stay behind with the convoy, words could not express his distress.

"Milord, forgive me, but I cannot stay behind! I  _must_  fight _!"_

"Frederick,  _no"_  Chrom faced him down. "Robin's orders are for the cavalry to stay off the field. And it's a good judgement - you know how hard it is for the horses to maneuver in the sand."

"But, milord, I-  _please_  reconsider!" The knight pleaded.

Chrom winced in sympathy. "I'm sorry, Frederick, but you're not an exception this time. What would happen if your steed were to falter and topple you on the field? Even your armor would slow you on these dunes. There isn't much help we can send if somebody gets stranded... and these enemy mages look powerful enough to pose a serious threat…" The prince shook his head. "It's too risky. We need you to stay behind."

Knowing that there was no convincing him, Frederick clenched his fists at his sides.

"…As you wish, milord." He ground out with as much civility as he could muster.

Unable to calm his nerves, Frederick paced back to the wagons, cursing at the sand that had already invaded his boots. The sun was already beating down as the morning dragged on, cooking him in his armor. Succumbing to a fit of frustration, he hastily unbuckled the heavier plates and tossed them on the ground.

It was so unlike him to be this distraught – maybe it was the heat. He made an attempt to calm himself, splashing out a handful of water from a canteen and rubbing it against his forehead and neck.

It was only  _one_  battle. Robin had gotten them this far without losing a single Shepherd, surely they could make it through this conflict as well. Everything would be okay, he just had to be calm… and have faith…

But what if someone needed a shield for an unlucky blow? What if Lady Lissa got herself trapped by reinforcements, or Lord Chrom was overwhelmed on the front?

...What if Robin got herself hurt? Or killed?

Frederick ran his hands through his hair. The anxiety would drive him mad.

He knew that he could not simply hide with his cavaliers while the rest of the team marched into battle. He would never –  _never_  – outright  _disobey_  his Lord's decision, but there had to be another way. He wracked his brain for a solution. He  _needed_  to get onto that battlefield – if only just as a reserve.

A distant sound caught his attention, drawing Frederick's gaze. Something tiny and smudged far off the horizon, in a different direction from the village they'd been sent to take cover in. Basilio's scouts had earlier reported a sighting of Plegian reinforcements. He'd glimpsed the maps, recalling where the Feroxi party was  _supposed_  to head them off. Frederick's eyes narrowed as he scanned the hazy landscape, gears turning as he pieced together a plan.

It was an outlandish, risky, and stupid plan.

But it could work.

 

* * *

 

Chrom squinted across the scorching battlefield.

Coarse grains of sand tossed up by the desert winds bit at his face, and beads of sweat diluted the flecks of enemy blood on his skin. Gaius was at his back, fending off a Grimleal mage while nimbly dodging bolts of dark energy.

"A little  _help,_  Blue?!" the thief hissed as he stabbed at his opponent.

"Right-" Chrom hefted his sword, watching for an opportunity to leap in. "My turn!" he charged forward, catching the mage off guard.

"Thanks," Gaius huffed as he finished gutting the cultist, not sounding very sincere. He pulled the dark rim of his shroud further up over his face as another shower of sand barraged them.

"Damn it all," Chrom coughed by his side, "I hate the desert…" he muttered.

"You're preaching to the choir, princey..." The thief adjusted his headband, "But would it kill you to focus?"

"I'm sorry, it's just… weren't we supposed to rendezvous with Robin by now?" The prince looked back across the field while Gaius gulped down a vulnerary and stretched an aching leg.

"So it's taking her and Four-eyes a little longer to reach the kid," he replied, "I'm sure they're fine."

"I hope so," Chrom hefted his sword and picked up his southward pace.

The pair slogged through the sands, moving at a frustratingly slower speed than the light-footed mages. None of the other Shepherds were in sight, save for Lissa and her bodyguard a short ways off. The rest had been paired off into fast moving teams, aiming to reach the desert villages with news of danger before any harm could befall the civillians.

The two swordfighters had been paired together to bring up the rear of the advance, picking off Grimleal mages that didn't seem to have a direction to their offense.  _Of course they dont_ , Chrom caught himself thinking with disdain - it was a cult, not a military faction. The ones they'd seen swarmed like wild dogs, and wandered like buzzards. The sandy rises and hot, rocky terrain made for the perfect mire to obscure them. They really did seem at home in a hellscape.

Still, it was eerie to feel so alone on the large battlefield, cutting down stragglers. And Chrom couldn't shake the feeling that he and Gaius should be meeting a  _lot_  more enemy resistance than they currently were.

"On your toes, Blue," the thief snapped him out of his reverie. "There's another one…" He nodded to dark figure fast approaching, blurred by the heated air.

The figure turned into three figures as it drew closer, and both men sheathed their swords when they recognized the frontrunner.

"Miriel!" Chrom called with relief, as the panting mage led her companions through the harsher sand downfield. She was accompanied by a hulk of a mercenary, who held the hand of the tiny girl while they jogged. The child stumbled, and tugged on the man's sleeve with a cough; to which he responded by swiftly scooping her up onto his back.

"Oy! Make with the slowing, yes?" The mercenary bellowed, "We are being out of range!"

If Miriel heard him, she didn't show it, he gaze following the prince's voice as she teetered to the side. It was then that Chrom noticed a long gash in her side, clutched under her trembling fingers.

"Oh gods…" he breathed, "Lissa! Get Lissa!"

Gaius swore and turned on heel to fetch the princess. Chrom sprinted the rest of the distance to their group as they clambered out of the last sandy basin.

"Miriel! What happened?!" the prince demanded as he took her arm over his shoulder. The mage coughed out a lungful of sand, and turned away from the gust.

"My Prince!" she gasped, "We were beset -  _*cough*_  - by a f-foul multitude of those heathens!" She managed to draw in a clean breath, wincing as she tried to straighten. "Robin remained behind, so that we might reach sanctuary - but there were axe-wielders on the horizon! She is in dire need of aid!"

The prince bit out a curse as he led Miriel towards a small rock shelf and gently sat her down. The mercenary and child followed, subtly sporting similar injuries. They were out of the harsher part of the desert, for now; with an easier retreat on the hard-packed earth that led to the nearest village.

Within minutes, Lissa was bounding towards them, with Gaius and Lon'qu on her heels.

"What'd I miss?!" she panted as she slid to a stop.

"These three are injured, and Robin's still out there-" Chrom reported, fear settling deep in his bones. He pushed his hair back, gaze raking the desert. There were no signs of movement.

Lissa uttered a very unladylike phrase and set to work with her staff. She exchanged a worried glance with her brother, "Well, what do we do?! Wherever she is, we can't reach her on our own! Not before…" She didn't finish the thought aloud, but all present company understood.

_Not before the Grimleal do._

Chrom turned back to Miriel. "You've seen no sign of Ricken or the pegasi?" He ascertained, heart sinking.

She shook her head, "I fear not, Captain. We've not solicited contact with the others since they departed for a subsequent attack on the Western front."

The prince paced in anxious circles while Lissa worked. He had half a mind to forgo his position and go sprinting into the sands himself. But how in Naga's name could he hope to find her?! Where even to begin to look?

Thinking of Robin out there alone, leading Grimleal on a wild goose chase… he felt as if he had personally betrayed her. She was strong - but not strong enough for this. Who knew how long she would last...

"Hey…!" a small voice piped up. Chrom looked down to see the bizarrely-dressed child tugging on his cape, holding her injured arm. "You need to find your friend, right? The lady who saved us?" Her large eyes searched his.

"Yes," came his despairing reply, "We can't… we can't afford to lose her."

 _What would Frederick say?_  Chrom caught himself thinking, beginning to regret his earlier decision. The great knight may have been a giant, heavy, metal wrench in their chosen strategy... but Chrom had no doubt that if he were here, Robin would be safe. Drastically slowed, and impeded by sands, but  _safe_.

For the briefest of moments, his darker imaginings conjured up a post-battle scene with the knight. A scene in which he had to explain to his lieutenant – his  _friend_  – that Robin had been... lost.

The prince shook the nasty thought from his head. No – it couldn't come to that. He couldn't bear to think it.

"Well," the girl's voice at his elbow drew his thoughts back to the issue at hand, "Why not send your dragon rider?"

Chrom sighed in frustration, looking back down at her wide eyes. "If only I could," he admitted, "We've no wyvern knights in Ylisse. Or Ferox."

The girl frowned up at him. "Then who is that?" She pointed at something over his shoulder.

He turned to seek out what held her attention. A distant dark smudge, slowly becoming visible through the hot atmosphere.

"The reinforcements," Lon'qu growled, unsheathing his sword and pushing Lissa behind him.

"But why only one…?" Gaius wondered aloud, echoing everyone's thoughts.

The smudge became the discernible shape of a coal-blue wyvern, whipping its head against the reigns of its rider as it closed in on the group below.

Lissa squinted at the sight, shielding her eyes against the sun as she took stock of the peculiar-looking figure astride it. "Wait a minute…" She struggled to see over her bodyguard's shoulder as he herded her backwards. "...Gods, is that-?" Her eyes widened as the dragon gave a screech and dove towards the earth.

The ground trembled as a pair of monstrous talons and flailing wings touched down, churning earth on their unsightly landing. The angry wyvern wheeled its blood-red eyes, attempting to snap at the familiar figure on its back.

" _Frederick!"_  A small chorus of cries greeted the knight as he wrestled with his unwilling mount.

"Milord!" He grunted as he tightened a makeshift leather muzzle around the dragon's jaws, "You looked - to be - in need - of aid," he explained between tugs.

Chrom swallowed past his relief.

" _Gods above,_  Frederick - am I glad to see you!" he called up. "How did you- where did that wyvern come from?!"

The shimmering navy reptile turned a pair of firey eyes on the prince. It hissed and spat before Frederick managed to yank its muzzle back. The knight himself was clad in a mix of lightweight leather armors, an ensemble that looked foreign on him.

"Milord, a band of Plegian reinforcements were intercepted off the field. I dispatched of them myself and decided to… borrow… one of their mounts."

The royal siblings simply gawked in amazement.

"And you can… you can just  _ride_  that thing?!" Lissa asked incredulously.

The dragon beneath him bucked and reared with an angry, muffled shriek.

"I am -  _*huff* -_ learning quickly, milady."

"Alright- alright, nevermind that..." Chrom recovered from his shock, waving off Lissa's curiosity, "Frederick, we need your help. Robin's in danger."

That last sentence, and the grim anxiety with which it was spoken, made Frederick's blood run cold.

_Just as he had feared._

"Where is she?!" he demanded, feeling adrenaline pool in his veins.

"We don't know exactly," Chrom answered, his tone fearful. "She was separated from Miriel somewhere in the basin, trying to head off pursuers."

"Gregor knows!" the mercenary beside him spoke up, "The brave lady was leaving us near the bones! The large bones!" He pointed off into the distance, where the wavering shadows of such structures were barely visible.

"And the Grimleal are still advancing from the south, Chrom added, resisting the urge to continue his worried pacing. "Without the pegasi, she's stranded!"

Frederick steeled his grip on the foreign reigns, and despite the fear clawing at his heart, his gaze darkened to a positively  _terrifying_  look.

If those Grimleal  _snakes_  had so much as  _touched_ a  _hair on her head…_

His mount roared beneath him, echoing his raging thoughts.

" _I must go,_ " he announced, his voice ringing out in a dangerous timbre.

"Please…" Chrom implored him. He eyed the furious winged mount... it was as good a chance as any.

Frederick nodded to his lord and kicked at the wyvern with a loud " _HYAH!"_  - urging it to beat its wings in a rapid ascent. With a sandy gust, the forms of the Shepherds shrank beneath him as his new steed vaulted into the sky.

The ride was unsteady, with the peeved dragon still attempting to be rid of its parasite passenger. Frederick scanned the landscape as they rose higher over the desert, brusquely yanking the unruly mount by the reigns.

The wyvern sounded its displeasure as he finally spotted a flash of enemy movement to the south. " _ENOUGH!_ " the knight roared back at the beast, managing to regain control. He tugged at the leather, forcing the dragon to bank to a lower altitude. A large train of misshapen forms dominated the area – they had to be the bones. And there, in the sun-beaten heart of the basin, a small swarm of Grimleal were closing in.

"There!" he shouted to his uncaring mount as he finally spotted a familiar dark coat among the dunes. The small figure wearing it was already surrounded by fallen enemies, her Levin sword glinting in her hand. She stood slumped over in a poor posture, but very much alive.

Frederick kicked the wyvern into another dive, aiming to circle in and scoop the tactician up with him... But he didn't anticipate that Robin would sway on her feet, and collapse before he got there.

The second thing he failed to anticipate was that the advancing enemy mages would recognize him immediately.

A bolt of wind magic rocketed into his mount, causing the beast to bellow in pain as one of its wings was torn and wrenched in its socket. Frederick caught a glimpse of the cultist's wicked grin seconds before his wyvern crashed.

Time seemed to slow, and his heart pounded in his ears. He threw up his hands and instinctively ducked into a roll as the dragon hit the ground, and he was catapulted from its back. He couldn't afford any hesitation to recover from the landing. Scrambling to his feet, Frederick ignored the pain in his limbs as he quickly searched the area and locked eyes on the crumpled tactician.

_Robin…_

She lay face-down in the sand, her hair tangled and her coat showered in it. He sprinted as fast as his feet could carry him. He tried calling her name, but Robin barely stirred. He skidded to a halt at her side, heart in his stomach as he turned her over gently.

Robin's eyes fluttered, pupils rolling back like something straight out of a nightmare. Her breathing was shallow and uneven, and her skin unnaturally flushed. It burned to the touch, but Frederick's heart felt like it was pumping ice.

"Robin…" he tried her name again, brushing her disheveled hair out of her face with nervous fingers. Strands of it were plastered with dried sweat, but her skin was as dry and wind-whipped as the desert sand. He began checking frantically for injuries – something he could nullify with the vulnerary he had packed. So preoccupied was the knight, that he hardly registered the approaching Grimleal in his peripheral until it was almost too late.

The wyvern permeated its distraught moaning with an agitated screech, backpedaling away from the advancing mages. The beast limped to his side, glaring and hissing at everything in sight. Frederick looked up from his panicked scrutiny, heart sinking as he realized the extent of his predicament.

Robin lolled in his grasp, and his joints flared with pain. The Grimleal had them surrounded.

...This was bad. This was  _very_  bad.

Frederick grimaced... he eyed his discarded lance, knowing that each second he spent not tending to Robin was another strike against her odds of surviving whatever befell her. But it would do them no good if he could not defend against these last enemies. He cursed his fate, arms constricting around Robin as he bowed his head.

Laying her in the dirt and turning his back was the hardest thing he had ever done.

Taking up his lance, he faced the attackers. He stalked forward to meet their advance.

Oh, he would be their  _nightmare_ , for what grief they've weighed upon him. He dodged a bolt from the nearest, locking murderous eyes with the weilder's cunning mask.

" _Your last breath approaches-_ " Frederick spat in a tone so chilling their line nearly faltered. And then he paid due the promise.

He fought like a demon. He clashed and parried against steel with a speed he had never before possessed, quickly breaking the line of footmen to reach the mages. He slaughtered them without mercy, watching as their sinister smiles turned to gapes of horror. The last sorcerer nailed him in the chest with a singeing bolt of magic – but Frederick took it unfazed, somehow finding the strength not to even so much as flinch at the hit.

He was rewarded with the satisfaction of the sorcerer's terrified backpedaling, before cutting him down like an avenging deity.

...The Grimleal lay defeated at his feet. But the high of his victory dwindled swiftly, replaced by dread as he dropped his weapon and returned to Robin's side.

She was still unresponsive. He checked her again, failing to find any wounds that would cause her sudden collapse. Frederick wiped his brow as the sun razed his back, before realizing what had felled her.

He tested a hand against the skin of her face and arms, wincing at the temperature.  _Heatsick_.

He lifted her, ever careful, and limped over to the wyvern that was still groaning and licking its wounds. He reached out and attempted to position the dragon's untouched wing, providing a small pocket of shade.

Heart still thumping, Frederick extracted Robin from her heavy cloak. He rarely ever saw her without it - ever since the last time he had to pull it off of her, suffering from quite the opposite thermal emergency. But now he had the trial of deciphering her complex Plegian garments, fumbling with the buckles and belts to carefully remove what layers he could. Had their situation not been so dire, he would have had the decency to blush at his actions. As it was, Frederick could focus on nothing but the fear that she may never awake.

Thankfully, the simple clothes that Robin was left in were thin and light, although they were already soaked through with sweat, and quickly drying. Frederick tried fanning her flushed face, but not even the desert winds would come to his aid. In his hurry to seek out battle, he had stupidly left without refilling his water-skin - and he despaired as the last few drops tickled out on his unhelpful hands. Now he sat helpless in the stagnant, hot air, hardly daring to touch Robin's overheated skin as her health whittled away.

Frederick was hit by a wave of desperation as Robin's breathing became even softer. Even if he  _could_  get her back to safety, what good would it do now? Lissa's healing staff couldn't summon winds or cool water! She, like him, and everyone else, was trapped here in the sweltering climate.

Nothing but desert, for miles and miles. Nothing but cursed, god-forsaken-

Frederick paused his internal tirade, a memory of the Shepherds' last war meeting bringing him a sudden a glimmer of hope. Something he had seen on the maps spread across the table; something he had vaguely glimpsed through the steaming air on his flight.

Water. An oasis. Here in the desert.

The knight wracked his brain, trying to recall the location. His eyes raked their surroundings, settling on a distant rise that impeded further view. The oasis should lie just beyond it.

Nearly stumbling over his own boots, Frederick lifted the tactician in his arms once again. He tossed her cloak, weapon, and armor onto the saddle of his useless mount, ignoring the wyvern as it turned a hate-filled eye on him.

" _Move_ , you stupid beast!" the knight resisted the urge to bat the dragon with his spear, "Or I'd sooner leave you to bake!"

The wyvern seemed to understand his message well enough, as it quieted its snarling and lumbered after him reluctantly. He tried his best to keep Robin shadowed in the dragon's wing, while the rest of his effort was expended to simply stay on his feet.

Frederick didn't know how long they trekked through that scorching wasteland – he only knew that every step was painful. His injured, tired body rebelled against him; and every moment that passed with Robin unconscious in his arms felt like an eternity.

Together, the knight and dragon walked hell's path.

Frederick had almost given up hope of reaching his goal, when the first wisps of verdant shoreline solidified in his vision. The wyvern sensed it too, and the pair quickened their pace as best they could.

The oasis was barely the size of a small lake, but Frederick thanked every god he could name. He staggered straight into the water, rejoicing in the envelope of cool liquid. Wading in until he could hold Robin in the shallows, he gently began cupping handfuls of water across her shoulders and brow.

Gradually, she began to respond. Weak groans and heavy, limp limbs protesting. Her eyes slipped open, hazy and barely conscious.

Frederick felt a surge of relief so strong, it was nearly pain.

"Robin?" he prodded, voice raspy from his dry throat.

The tactician could only muster another weak moan, her breathing ragged.

"It's fine… You are going to be fine..."

The knight continued to repeat the words like a mantra, not realizing that he was doing so to convince himself of their truth. He clutched her small form like a lifeline, the two of them submerged in the saving waters of the oasis. With no one around to see, the knight held her as close as he cared to. He shut his eyes and let out a breath, his fevered mind daring to imagine that he could keep her that close forever.

 

* * *

 

That night, Frederick would convince himself that the hellish heat had been driving his thoughts. He would tell himself that the sheer  _joy_  he experienced to see Robin recovered was simply the dizzy happiness of a knight that had saved his charge's life under impossible circumstances. He would deny that when help finally found them in the oasis, he had at first refused to let her go.

He would insist that, yes, it must have been the heat.

But still he was drawn to Robin's medical cot, watching over her while she rested. His own wounds had been treated and bandaged; and in a moment of indecision, he gently reached out and took her hand as she slept.

Chrom found him like that, sitting up through the night, replaying the day's horrors in his head. And when his prince asked to hear his thoughts, Frederick could only bow his head in quiet confession.

"Milord, I… have never known such fear."


	7. Sorrow's Embrace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the war with Plegia grows perilous, Fredbear is left to wrestle with his duty and his feeeeeelings~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope yall bought your tickets to the angst train.

* * *

 

 

Frederick stared down at the cup of tea in his hands.

He frowned as he rubbed his thumb along the smooth rim, watching the steam rise from its contents. He had yet to move from where he stood rooted just outside the medical tent, the sun's last rays barely reaching his motionless form. It had been one full day since his trial in the desert; and in that time, he had refused to leave Robin's side while she slept and recuperated.

He longed to return to her now, but something kept him from taking the last few steps. Frederick reached up to straighten his necktie, ignoring the dull pain of his bandaged ribs. Did he look too unprofessional in this state? Would Robin notice? What would she say?

What would  _he_  say?

He began mentally rehearsing his words, although he had already imagined at least a dozen conversations by this point. He tapped his fingers on the side of the cup. The tea he had prepared was for Robin, of course. But if he waited too long to deliver it, it would cool – which was unacceptable. He would have to pour it out and start again. This was already the fourth cup he had brewed that evening.

This was ridiculous. A fearless Ylissian knight, dawdling around like a nervous fool. And for what? He had no reason to be nervous. Not with Robin. The tactician could be waking up any minute now, and he should be by her side. She would be happy to see him.

At least, he believed she would be. He  _hoped_  she would be.

…Would she?

Frederick shook himself. The thoughts circled in his head like vultures, filling him with doubt, and wasting his time. Glaring at the toes of his boots, he took a steely breath and finally strode through the tent door.

Robin was right where he left her, resting against her pillows with her newly-washed cloak draped over her like a blanket. Underneath, Frederick knew she was a mess of splints and bandages, and the thought made his heart squeeze. Although he had been as gentle as possible when he rescued her from that hellscape, Robin hadn't exactly been conscious enough to report her physical condition, and the grandmaster's heroics had earned her at least a few internal injuries before she fell.

Frederick sighed as he made his way over to her bedside, taking a seat as quietly as he could. He set the cup on the makeshift dresser, hoping the lantern there would keep it sufficiently warm until the tactician awoke. Luckily, he didn't have long to wait.

Robin shifted on her cot with a bleary groan as she roused.

"…Frmmmrick…?"

She attempted to rub her eyes, grimacing when her actions were impeded by a sling.

"I'm here," the knight informed her, reaching out to guide her arm back into a comfortable position. He almost smiled at the groggy, petulant look on her face.

"Fred…rick…?" she tried again.

"Yes?"

Robin gave him a drowsy blink.

"You're… here…"

"I am," his mouth tilted into a smile.

The tactician frowned, scrutinizing him with an unfocused gaze.

"...Are you a dragon...?" she blurted out.

Frederick's smile faded. "What?"

"A… drrragon…" Robin insisted.

The knight opened his mouth to voice his confusion, when a small form came bustling back into the tent.

"Frederick! There you are!" Lissa chirped, dumping an armful of supplies on a nearby table. "I was wondering where you went off to…"

"LLLLLiiiissaaAH!" Robin cheered, her head lolling back on her pillow.

"...Oh dear."

Lissa pursed her lips while Frederick turned his worried gaze on her.

"Lady Lissa?" he appealed to the princess in an urgent undertone, "Robin is-"

"LLllissaaaaaahhhhh…" the tactician droned happily, cutting him off.

"I know, hon," the cleric fixed her patient with an indulgent smile as she shuffled over and sat on the edge of her bed. "Drink," she ordered, handing Robin a water flask. "Stahl said this might happen…" she muttered with a slight shake of her head.

Frederick felt his chest tighten in fear.

"What might happen?! What's wrong?!" His head began to swim with terrible possibilities… madness… hallucinations… fever…

"Whoa there, nothing bad," the princess assured him, palms up as if she could hope to catch his spiraling worry in them. "Really, I promise! It's just a rehydration solution. Works like a charm, but our apothecary extraordinaire warned me the side-effects might make her a bit… loopy." She eyed the tactician with something akin to suspicion.

" _I'mmmm_  not loopy," Robin managed to raise her head with an affronted look, "Frederick is a drrragon!"

"Ohhh I'll bet," the princess snorted.

"I ssss... saw it…" the tactician slurred, shutting her eyes again.

Lissa threw him a look of the  _'don't bother trying to explain it to her'_ variety, and went back to her work. Frederick, meanwhile, let out a relieved breath. At least that meant Robin was recovering. His gaze softened as he watched her rub her forehead and tug distractedly at her sling.

"Robin," the knight cleared his throat, "I brought tea for you…"

"Oh my goooods I  _love_  tea!" The tactician shuffled back up in her seat with a dopey grin. She reached out a pair of groping hands, and Frederick placed the cup securely in her clutches. He looked on in cautious amusement as she downed the contents in a few deep gulps.

" _Frederick_ …" she gasped, fixing him with the most gravely serious look she could muster, "you're my  _hero."_

The knight coughed into his hand, trying in vain to cover both his laughter and his mild embarrassment at her words.

"Oooh-kay there Robin," Lissa stepped in, coaxing the tactician back down to her pillow. "Now you just rest until that stuff wears off. And  _you_ -" she turned around to regard Frederick, "-need your bandages changed."

The knight waved off Lissa's concern. "Milady, you needn't trouble yourself."

"Yes I do  _need trouble myself,_ " she corrected, hands on hips. "It's my j _ob_." She didn't wait to hear his response before flitting over to retrieve her staff and a stack of fresh cloth wraps.

Frederick sighed as he watched her, before realizing that he was under intense observation. Robin's narrowed gaze was fixed on him, although there was a childlike innocence to the look that she normally lacked in sobriety.

"…Are you sure you're not a dragon?" she whispered to him after a few moments.

He couldn't help but chuckle this time. "Completely."

Frederick could almost see the gears turning in her head as Robin gauged the sincerity of his answer. After a moment of consideration, her furrowed brow smoothed and she reached out a clumsy hand to pat his arm.

"It'sss okay. I trust you…" She nodded to herself, settling back into her pillow. "You're too haaandsome to be a dragon," she concluded with a dumb, contented look.

Lissa returned just in time to catch the tail end of the statement, and it took every ounce of her hard-earned self-control not to burst out laughing at Frederick's expression. With his face quickly coloring, the knight fixed his sights on an escape - but the princess cornered him before he could rise.

"Heeere we are..." Lissa set her supplies on the cot and smirked at Frederick adamantly avoiding eye contact. It was really quite funny how little it took to fluster him – Naga knows she'd done her fair share of teasing to the painfully stoic man. But she had to admit, these days Robin was the one that had him by the reins; even while she sat drugged up and dopeily watching him from her medical cot.

And because the opportunity was simply too perfect to pass up, Lissa decided to torment him further.

"Shirt off," she instructed sweetly.

Frederick resisted the urge to bolt for the door.

Instead, he succumbed to a brief coughing fit, and desperately willed his burning face to cool. He was sure he looked ridiculous, if the princess's subtle taunting was anything to go by. And he cursed the fact that such a simple, silly statement from Robin could crush his composure.

Lissa cleared her throat above his head, and Frederick reluctantly reached down to tug at the hem of his shirt, blushing at his feet as he did so. Wanting to be done with the ordeal, he shucked it off without ceremony rather than undo the buttons.

The princess hummed as she set to work unwinding the bandages from the healing burns on his chest, noticing with smug amusement how he tensed at the action. Frederick was normally so professional while having his injuries treated; and she'd seen him without a shirt more times than she could count. But the way he kept his head ducked now, with his shoulders bunched up in knots, was a rare departure that she couldn't help but find entertaining.

Frederick, on the other hand, was not faring much better.

His face hadn't gotten any less red; and as Lissa removed the last of his bindings to administer a dose of soothing magic, he made the mistake of allowing his gaze to slide up from the floor.

Robin, of course, was staring unabashedly. And not just at his face.

The thought alone was enough to root his sight back to his boots and pour another hot ladle of embarrassment into his veins. Out of the corner of his eye, he could tell that Robin was still watching him. It wasn't like the last time she'd seen him in such a state, when he told her the story of his scars. This time, she wasn't looking at him with sympathy and camaraderie.

She was looking at him with interest. As if she really did find him… handsome.

And what's worse: part of him  _liked it_.

Frederick shifted in discomfort as Lissa began re-binding his torso, vowing to the divines that he would cleanse such un-knightly thoughts with a round of extra-rigorous training. He fisted his hands in the fabric of his shirt, running through a mental regimen of drills to put himself through. But despite his best efforts to distract himself, spare, fleeting thoughts of Robin continued to slip through. Namely, his memory about their time in that cave…

_Stop. Stop. STOP._

Frederick wanted to shake the thought from his head. But it lingered.

So distracted was the knight, he completely missed the mischievous glint in his attendant's eye as she finished up her patchwork.

"Let me see that arm," Lissa instructed, pushing him into a straighter posture. Holding back an evil grin, she feigned concern over his limb, knowing full well that the torn muscles had already healed. She reached down to pluck another wrap from the bed, and glanced over to make sure Robin was still watching.

"Now, flex," she ordered, holding back more laughter as the knight frowned. He gingerly positioned his arm, and she rolled her eyes. "Like you mean it."

Frederick looked like he either wanted to bury himself or question her methods, but he remained silent as he complied, muscles standing out in sharp relief. Lissa smirked as she wound the bandage around his tensed arm - she had to use both hands. She'd never admit it, but it was a sight to make plenty a girl fan herself silly.

Speaking of...

She turned to raise an eyebrow at her audience as she finished; who, despite the medicine, was sporting a peculiar expression.

"What do you think, Robin?" Lissa asked, for the sole purpose of causing the knight one last little bit of fluster. The tactician did not disappoint.

"Lookin'  _gooood_  Freddy-Bear!" Robin sang with a pink tinge to her cheeks and a lazy thumbs-up.

It took only seconds for Frederick to pull on his shirt, force out a stuttering formality, and head for the door.

The princess was still laughing long after he left.

 

* * *

 

"I must have been a riot."

Robin leaned down to pull on her boots, reveling in the comfort of strapping back into her various belts and buckles. With a clear head and a healed body, she felt ready to take on a whole army; though her ever-vigilant companion would certainly take issue with the idea.

"To Lady Lissa, perhaps," Frederick responded beside her. She didn't miss the way he bit out the sentence with a narrowed gaze, and she wondered what  _exactly_  she had missed. Her memory of the past day was fuzzy at best; she recalled only bits and pieces of the desert battle's aftermath, and a few hazy episodes from her time in recovery.

Well,  _one_  episode in particular. Robin's face heated as she glanced up at the great knight, a different mental image blatantly pasting itself over the sight of his armored form. Just her luck, that she should remember barely a word of her supposedly ridiculous conversations while that picture stuck in her mind.

Not that she was complaining, per say.

"Oh come on, Frederick the Wary didn't find me the least bit funny?" She smiled as she pulled on her cloak.

"You were mildly entertaining," he allowed.

"What all did I say?"

Frederick skirted around the first thing that popped into his head. "Well, you believed me to be a dragon," he reported smoothly.

"Oh yeah… I kind of remember that…" Robin paused, frowning as she sifted through her memories of the desert. "...Wait. Why do I remember that?"

"I think I know," Frederick admitted as he helped her up from the cot. "Come, I'll show you."

The knight led the way through camp, weaving a path through the sea of activity as the convoy readied to march. After a few minutes, they arrived at the makeshift pasture, where the company's horses and pegasi had been left to graze.

The present equestrian populace, however, were currently huddled together at the edge; warily eyeing the large reptile that shared their quarters.

Robin gasped. The massive wyvern lifted its head at their approach, its red eyes sullen. A length of rope was tied around its muzzle, with a slack lead staked to the ground.

" _Holy_  halberds, where did  _that_  come from?!"

"I, ah...  _commandeered_  it during the last battle," Frederick admitted, halting their progress at a safe distance. "But now, we can't get the stupid beast to  _leave_." He fixed the dragon with an exasperated look.

The wyvern blinked at him, looking for all the world to be sporting a defiant expression.

"Whoa…" Robin wandered closer, ignoring the hand that he put out to stop her. "So  _that's_  what it was…" The dragon turned its disinterested gaze on her as she circled it.

" _Careful_!" Frederick warned, trying to put himself between them. "The thing is a menace! There's no telling what it'll do."

"He."

"What?"

"The wyvern-" Robin gestured to the rim of spines on its jaw, "-it's a he. See?"

Frederick frowned. "Well, no matter. It's best we leave i-  _him_ alone."

Robin ignored him, instead leaning down to look at a pile of discarded armor plates.

"Are these his?" she asked, holding up an engraved helm.

"They're what the Plegians had strapped onto him, yes."

"Huh…" she turned it over in her hands. "Well, good news - this happens to be the armor set of a wyvern lord's mount. Which means your friend here is already well trained."

Frederick snorted. "I'm not likely to believe  _that_."

"No, really," Robin insisted, "I've read a lot about military riders and their dragons. They're very loyal. He may have given you some trouble at first, but if he stuck around this long, that must be a sign that he's picked a new master."

Frederick was quiet. After all, he  _had_  saved the dragon's life; even going to the trouble to splint the beast's wing while it was passed out in the camp. Perhaps the tactician was on to something.

Robin edged her way back around the wyvern's other side.

"Here… let's get this rope off…"

Before Frederick could stop her, she reached up to pat the dragon's side. No sooner had the creature turned its eyes on her, it wheeled up, tugging wildly against its lead with a furious hiss.

"Robin!" Frederick was at her side in an instant, ready to skin the lizard with his bare hands. But strangely, the wyvern didn't move to attack. It continued trying to backpedal, letting out an odd, grumbling whine as he fixed it with a glare.

"Wait, wait! I know what's wrong…" Robin reached down to her belt, where the line of her cloak had shifted to reveal the spare thunder tome that she carried. Catching the dragon's fearful eye, she took the tome and flung it across the field.

"See? No magic," she promised, inching forward again as the dragon calmed. "Poor guy… I bet his Plegian trainers used some pretty cruel methods…" she shook her head.

Frederick watched in disbelief as she reached up and gently removed the dragon's harness, working out the knots and letting the rope fall to the ground.

"There… all better?" she asked it.

The wyvern tilted its head.

"He needs a name," Robin decided as Frederick warily joined her.

"No. A name implies that we are  _keeping_ it _._ "

"Well, why not? You can fly him can't you?" she reached up to cautiously pat the dragon's neck, encouraged when the proud animal gave in and nosed her hand for more attention. "We could really use a wyvern rider…"

Frederick watched the calmed creature, almost refusing to believe that it was the same spitting demon that had tried to throw him from its back. He  _would_  need a mount in the event of another desert battle…

"Fine," he conceded, "but the minute it gives me reason to, I'm chasing it off with a bolt-axe."

Robin grinned, pausing her ministrations. "So… a name?"

The knight gestured for her to take the responsibility. They both stared at the dragon.

"How about… Ares?" the tactician mused, gazing over its cascade of dark blue scales and fiery eyes.

"Ares?"

"Yeah, to go with your horse! Like in the fairytale!"

"Athena is not an  _accessory_. She is a trained war mount."

"Well, so is Ares! Come on, they'll make a great pair."

Frederick sighed. He had to admit, the title had a certain ring to it… plus, he couldn't deny Robin anything when she smiled like that.

"Very well... Ares it is."

 

* * *

 

Over the next few days, the company marched deeper into enemy territory. Basilio's scouts picked out numerous ambushes along the road, allowing the Feroxi guard a chance to slice a few throats and keep the way clear.

Robin was all the while busy pouring over maps and marking down notes Her late nights were spent in the council of the prince and khans, while during the day she insisted on taking her work on the road. Frederick did his best to make her comfortable, allowing her the elbow room to unfold her papers over the back of his mare's neck, while offering to hold open her book with his spare hand. His saddle bags soon became packed with water skins and food rations, and even an extra cushion for when Robin's drowsiness caught up to her.

The dragon, with its wing still recovering, had taken to trailing behind his new master's horse on the march, seemingly proving his loyalty through patience. And between Frederick's daily occupation, and the parade of steeds, and fact that a certain hyper manakete was of a habit to ride atop the wyvern's back,  _and_  the fact that a certain young mage was of a habit to keep her company,  _AND_ the fact that a certain blonde princess was never far behind such a promising mix for entertainment… it made for quite the sight.

"How is Freddy's day care doing?" Chrom asked one day as he pulled up alongside the posse.

The knight ceased his scolding of the bickering mage and manakete and turned back around.

"I beg your pardon, milord?"

The prince simply shook his head with a smile. "Is she okay?" he breached another topic, nodding to the tactician snoozing in the saddle, her cloak abandoned in the warmer climate.

"Just resting, milord."

"Good… I still worry about her," Chrom sighed. "Just the other night I found her asleep at her desk, again… she nearly screamed when I woke her."

Frederick frowned, "Why did I not hear of this?"

The prince shrugged, "It wasn't anything bad... we all get nightmares. I'm just worried she's not getting enough sleep."

"I'll… be sure to remedy that, milord." Frederick turned his concerned gaze on his passenger.

Chrom opened his mouth, about to tell his knight not to worry about such things; that he had only been venting his thoughts on the matter... but something in Frederick's face stopped him. He watched him gently prod and rearrange the napping tactician, wondering if what Lissa had said about the pair was true.

He resigned to say nothing of Frederick's strange doting. Sure, Robin was perfectly capable of handling herself, but… who was he to deny her a bit of indulgence?

The tactician continued to doze against her companion's arm.

"At least we'll soon be done with this blasted ordeal," Chrom continued with a sigh, "Naga knows we could all use some rest..."

"Indeed, milord. We must keep our sights on the horizon."

"I'll just be happy to have Emm home safe... This time next week that mad fool will be running for the hills, I swear it."

Frederick nodded, keeping his lingering doubt and worry to himself. With the Feroxi forces at their backs, the coming conflict was sure to go as smoothly as the prince expected. There was no reason to doubt his confidence.

After a few more exchanged words, Chrom urged his horse off along the convoy, leaving Frederick to his thoughts. The knight rode in silence for a time, ignoring the childish banter going on behind him, until Robin finally stirred from her sleep.

"Robin…?"

She jolted awake with a loud gasp, nearly giving him a heart attack.

"Robin! What's wrong?!" he demanded

"Wh-…? Where…?" She clutched at the seat, breathing heavily as she reoriented herself. "I… I'm sorry," she finally managed to say.

"Are you okay?" Frederick asked, his thudding pulse gradually calming again.

"Yeah… Yes, I'm fine…"

Robin stared down at her arms, eyes screwed up as if seeing something else. Flickers of thought surfaced, flashes from the same dreams that she'd been having ever since her face-off with the Grimleal in the desert. She looked harder at her skin of her arms, searching for the smallest hint of a scar - but it was the same as always. Smooth and unmarked.

She shook her head, trying to clear it.

"It was… just a nightmare."

 

* * *

 

The battlefield was set.

The day of Emmeryn's execution had arrived: a grand public spectacle in the heart of Plegia, atop the towering stone relics of their most beloved cult. A trap of course, but one that Robin was confident they were prepared for. Her plan – the product of her many sleepless nights – was orchestrated down to the last man: the Feroxi forces set to clear the way, Phila's brigade positioned to rescue Emmeryn from her precipice, and the Shepherds poised to sweep the field of Plegia's royal guard to take down the mad king.

Everything was planned.

Robin led the charge herself, with Frederick by her side. Each thunderous clash of her Levin sword was followed by the fell swoop of his mount's dark wings, slaying their enemies in a dance of magic and steel. The Grandmaster felt almost giddy with the high of the fight, perfectly in sync with her partner, dealing blow after killing blow. Seamless.

But the feeling wouldn't last.

Robin should have seen the signs. The axe-wielding priest and the turncoat mage that unexpectedly joined their front lines was the first defiance to her calculations. A battle like this could never go  _exactly_ as planned. There would always be something she couldn't see, couldn't prepare for. And it could mean the difference between life and death.

Everyone was counting on her.

That was the panicked thought that wormed its way into Robin's brain as she raced towards the malicious dark flier, who looked so  _familiar,_ and smiled as if she had an ace up her sleeve. It was the thought that spurred her on when she caught sight of Chrom's face, so confident that victory was at hand as they closed in. It was the thought that echoed in the storm clouds that began to rumble in the distance.

It was the thought that arrested Robin's feet when the sudden scent of rotting flesh hit her nose. And it was the thought that stayed rooted in her mind as she was forced to watch.

The pegasi fell.

The mad king laughed.

The Exalt said her brave words.

A single body fell through the air, looking like a bird about to open its wings... But the wings never came.

 

And it was all her fault.

 

* * *

 

_"Don't speak her name!"_

There were no more battle-cries that day, as the prince's grief-stricken words echoed in the minds of friend and enemy alike. The clouds wept, and the mud clawed at their feet. Those who were strong enough led the fight with hearts of doused coal.

Frederick wasn't sure if he could really be considered one of the strong ones. He wasn't really sure of anything anymore.

His Exalt, to whom he had sworn his life - she who had been a light of kindness to him, who had inspired him to serve the royal family since his youth - was dead.

Frederick followed the path of his prince, cutting down foes with no more emotion than the cold rain. And when Chrom finally tired of his rampage, sinking to his knees in the mud; the knight pulled him up.

Those who were truly strong did fight. The taguel bathed herself in Plegian blood, the dark mage was silent and cruel as she slew her former countrymen, the farm boy whet his spear, and the loyal Feroxi myrmidon struck savagely in the name of the mourning princess. Those who could see past the grief most clearly fought hardest.

Before long, the Plegians lay dead, and the carriages of their escape whisked them all away through the storm.

Frederick sat with what remained of the royal family. He allowed Lissa to cry into his shirt, and he watched Chrom drive Falchion into the wood of the floor. Robin was in a different carriage.

They journeyed into the night, finally reaching a safe enough place to stop. Camp was set up in hushed tones, with the help of the depleted Feroxi guard.

Once done, a brief service was held. The war-monk raised his mournful prayers to the divines, and the Shepherds all bowed their heads and took their knees. There was a pyre, but nothing to burn, and Frederick knelt in front of it with an aching heart and a shielded countenance. No one dared approach the stone-faced knight as he stared unseeing into the flames. The Shepherds gathered and huddled, supporting each other through the grief. But as Frederick finally raised his head to look across the circle, there was one face he did not see.

When the service ended, many moved to console the royal siblings, offering kind words and quiet company. Frederick excused himself, and went to Robin's tent. He stepped inside without knocking – numb to the formality.

By the light of a single candle, Robin was there, scribbling away at her desk.

Something in him snapped in that moment. Perhaps it was what he'd seen earlier, when she had ceased her fighting during their escape, barely trudging through the mud. Or perhaps it was the way she had stumbled out of her carriage and pitched her tent wordlessly, apart from the others. Perhaps it was her absence thereafter, when he had expected  _her_ , of all people, to be willing to comfort the prince and princess – her  _friends_.

Or perhaps it was because he had wanted to hear something –  _anything –_ from her to share in his mourning. In  _everyone's_  mourning. And yet, here she was: holed up in her tent with her precious books.

"Have you  _no_ sorrow?" Frederick spoke coldly.

Robin's pen stilled, hovering over the paper.

"Our Exalt is  _dead_. And yet you say  _nothing_ -"

He had to pause, his voice nearly cracking. The dim candlelight flickered against the drooping tent walls, silhouetting the back of Robin's shapeless cloak.

"Chrom and Lissa are  _grieving_  while you  _sit_  here…" the knight felt almost strange using no titles for the royals - the only ones he had left - but he continued nonetheless. "...And the rest of Ylisse weeps."

He waited for her to respond. When she did not, he pressed on.

"I thought you were one of us. I thought…" he opened his mouth, but couldn't finish the thought.

He  _thought_  she cared... but she had left him alone. In silence. And now, to realize that Robin was not the Shepherd, the  _friend_  that he had believed her to be, just about broke his heart.

"Nevermind," he concluded darkly, finally mustering the emotion to glare at the back of her hooded head. "Perhaps I was wrong about you."

Robin was motionless, except for her trembling pen. Frederick turned around to leave. He couldn't make sense of his thoughts: there was so much anger… hurt… betrayal… and yet  _still_ he was reluctant to leave her. It was a disgrace to his Exalt's memory.

Walking away from her should have been a dignified action, but instead he just felt… sick.

The knight shut the tent door behind him, but he only made it a few steps before sinking down to his knees.

Why was this  _happening_  to him?! He was a failure to Ylisse, and of all the things that could  _possibly_  bring him lower… He clutched at his head, as if it would alleviate the pain.

The knight had almost composed himself enough to rise, to try and swallow the rest of his despair, when the smallest of sounds caught his attention.

Frederick froze, not sure if he heard it correctly. It was muted, restrained enough to feel hidden in the surrounding darkness. But it was the only sound that could have made him return to the tent he had stormed out of, and peer back through the door.

Robin's pen lay forgotten on the floor, as she sobbed quietly into her arms.

If there was any sight that could pull Frederick back down to Earth, that was it. He stepped carefully back over the threshold, and the tactician stiffened as she was alerted to his presence.

"…Robin."

He wished to say more, but the words caught in his throat. The tactician kept her head down, pretending to be still, but a small, hitched whimper escaped. She stayed like that as he hesitantly approached.

Frederick stared down at her, unsure of how to proceed. All he knew was that, despite all the pain and doubt still circling his head, each tiny sniffle from the crumpled girl was another stake in his chest.

"…Robin, I… I am sorry. I didn't mean what I said."

The words flowed easily, but he felt like scum. Because he  _had_  meant what he said. Her silence and seclusion in this time of loss… it  _hurt_. The knight felt a frustrated burning sensation in the corners of his eyes.

As if in echo of his thoughts, Robin suddenly let loose a wretched sob; clutching her arms all the closer. Her shoulders shook as she tried to rein in the renewed torrent of weeping.

" _L_ - _leave me,_ " she managed to choke out after a few moments.

That was the last thing Frederick was prepared to do. He swallowed and stayed rooted in place.

"I will not."

This only caused her crying to crecendo.

"Wh-what do you  _want?!"_  she demanded on a broken sob. "You were right, okay?! I'm  _f-filth_  – I'm the reason Ylisse weeps!"

Frederick winced at her tone. That wasn't what he'd said…

But she continued.

"I-if I'd only done one thing different… we wouldn't be…  _she_  w-wouldn't have…" Unable to finish the thought, the tactician collapsed into more muffled tears.

Her words tugged at the raw grief in Frederick's mind. His gaze slipped over the desk beneath her, taking in the mess of maps and papers. There was a sea of scrawling notes over every surface; scratched out lines of repeated script, battle formations drawn and re-drawn in dozens of arrangements… all of it centered around that last, fateful conflict.

"You… mustn't say such things," he responded quietly. "It wasn't your fault."

Robin managed to lift her head at his words, the look on her damp face as distressed as it was guilty.

"How can you s- _say_  that? I'm the reason your Exalt is  _dead_." Her bitter words cut him like a serrated blade, but her eyes were lowered in shame.

"That is  _not_  true!"

"Yes, it is! I  _deserved_  what y-you said! How could I face everyone after what I've done…?" She buried her face again, "I'm n-not one of you…" she repeated his words in a whimper.

Frederick stared down at her in shock. He had no idea… He hadn't meant to imply…

His cruel words echoed in his head, filling him with shame. How could he  _say_  such things to someone he cared so deeply for? Just because she couldn't express her sorrow… he had let his own drive him to malice.

Frederick's heart fractured as he watched Robin continue her silent lament. He knew how it felt to take such a burden upon oneself – had he not claimed his own crest of blame for Ylisse's losses? And yet he had let the tactician wallow in undeserved guilt this long, without a single person to turn to. He was a poor excuse for a knight… for a companion.

Frederick knelt down beside her. The heavy ache of his mourning was still etched in his mind - but  _this_ , at least, was something he could try to fix.

"Robin, look at me."

She didn't.

"Robin…" He reached a hand out to her shoulder, only to have her shrink away from his touch.

"Please?" he tried, when she offered no response, "It… pains me… to see you like this."

She was quiet for a few moments, working to control the shaking of her shoulders. When she finally raised her head, she wouldn't meet his eyes. Seeking to change that, he brushed back her hood with a careful hand.

"I am  _truly_  sorry. I... cannot atone for those unkind words," the knight told her, "but I had never meant to place such blame on you. I was… upset." He admitted.

"You have every right to be…" Robin's eyes shone as she tried to pull away again.

"No, I don't," he insisted, "I was upset because…"

Frederick hesitated, feeling a pained expression flicker across his face as he tried to find the right words.

"Because... I thought you didn't care... Because I feared you had left me to my grief alone."

He paused for a moment, and Robin quieted her reluctance to finally meet his eyes.

"Our Lady Exalt... I would have laid down my life for her in an  _instant._  I was her sworn knight, yet I have failed her. I have failed my  _country..._  and I… I simply… need…"

He tried to finish his statement, but the words wouldn't come. His throat felt thick, and the hot, sick feeling bubbled up in his chest to hitch his breathing. He didn't know when he had retracted his hand, but he felt his fists clench as he dropped his gaze, overwhelmed with the frustrating urge to blink.

He didn't know  _what_  he needed anymore.

Robin didn't say a word. But after a few seconds, he felt a cautious pair of arms wind their way around his neck.

Frederick didn't need more of an invitation. Before he could think of his actions, her small form was enveloped in his arms, his hands clutching the folds of her cloak. His breathing became quick and shallow at the action; but the well of emotion he felt was spearheaded by intense, confusing relief. He had to remind himself to be gentle as his hold constricted with aching need.

Robin was shocked into silence. She never would have anticipated such a ready response from this stoic, confusing man. But now, with his anguished face out of view, she could feel the helplessness in his taut limbs. No one but he could possibly blame themselves more for the loss of the Exalt, and the woes of Ylisse.

No one would ever think to comfort Frederick the Wary.

Robin reached up, smoothing a hand through his hair in what she hoped was a reassuring manner. Her efforts were rewarded as he let his head drop to rest against her shoulder, eyes screwed shut. The knight rocked his temple into her neck, concealing his face; and she felt his fingers on her back, curling in her long hair as his embrace tightened. His broad shoulders caved against hers.

It was a minute or so before Frederick could compose himself, and all the while Robin kept a hesitant hand cradled on his head. When he finally did, he pulled back, rubbing a brusque arm across his eyes.

"My apologies…" he cleared his throat.

Robin stopped him before he could move to disentangle himself.

"Please… stay?"

Her gaze was pleading as more tears threatened to form. He, too, looked barely grounded. Firm in her request, Robin secured a hold around his waist and huddled back into his arms.

He conceded.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Frederick was happy – ecstatic, even – to forstall his departure. He didn't want to walk back out into the night, his feet taking him to wherever he would spend his lonely hours. He wanted to be  _here,_ with Robin, keeping the company that his misery craved.

Gathering her up, he found them a seat on the end of the cot. The candle at Robin's desk continued to sink lower as they sat folded in each other's arms, keeping out the demons that waited back at reality's doorstep.

They talked in quiet tones. Occasionally, she would sport more tears, and he would rock her. When his voice became thick, she would sift a hand through his hair. As the hours passed, their eyes became dry and drowsy; and the candle burned out.

Frederick didn't recall laying down that night. But he remembered Robin's soft confession amidst the hushed comforts; the way her voice shook with fear as she told him of the nightmares that haunted her sleep. Terrible, spine-chilling things she spoke of: tools and magic and Grimleal masks… And he remembered promising her that he would never allow such things to happen, daring to brush his lips across the hair of her forehead in a touch so subtle, he wasn't sure she knew.

It was the first night in many that she slept peacefully.

She was still asleep, hooked in the cradle of his arm, when he roused himself in the morning.

Frederick was sure that part of him should feel indecent as he straightened his necktie and pulled on his boots, but he couldn't bring himself to care about such things. Robin lay curled under her blanket, her tears long dried; and he was strong once again with the resilience that his station required. That was all that mattered, for now.

The knight was careful not to wake her as he stepped out into the early morning sun. He began the trek back to his own quarters, planning to refresh his appearance before starting on the morning chores. Robin deserved her rest… and she would surely not despair waking up alone - so long as he returned with her breakfast.

As he walked through the silent camp, Frederick hadn't expected to find anyone else. Most of the Shepherds had been just as exhausted and disconsolate as he, if not more so; and the Feroxi guard was stationed far enough away to keep the secluded camp from discovery. Frederick was surprised, then, to see the prince very much awake, staring at the sunrise on the border of camp.

"Milord…?"

Chrom started at the address, subtly wiping the back of a gloved hand against his cheek.

"Frederick, I didn't know you were up…"

The knight felt a throb of pity as he caught sight of the prince's red-rimmed eyes; but he knew better than to voice his sympathies. Chrom was not the type to air his grievances to his lieutenant, unless it involved taking up a sword.

Instead, Frederick simply stood beside him, giving the unspoken support of his company as they watched the sun together.

"Milord, have you slept?" he asked.

Chrom shook his head. "I'll sleep in the wagons."

They stood in silence for another few moments.

"Frederick, I…" Chrom faltered, and rallied, "...You know there's... nothing we could have done."

The knight blinked, surprised that he would breach the subject.

"… I know."

Chrom nodded, swallowing before he continued.

"I just… I know how you take these sorts of things... And it's not your fault. It's not anyone's fault. I tried to hand over the emblem… There was just… nothing we could do."

Frederick sighed.

"I know."

"...Good."

Chrom hung his head, rolling Falchion's handle between his palms. The quiet air hung with dewy fog at their ankles, and even the birdsong was absent in the far-off trees.

"Frederick… you care about Robin, don't you?"

The question took him by surprise, but the knight could be nothing but honest in his answer.

"…Yes."

"And you'll… see that she's okay, after this...?"

"Of course."

The prince let out a slow breath.

"…She tried her best. I know that. Can you make sure that she knows… that I know? That Lissa and I… we would never blame her for what happened."

Frederick lowered his gaze, thinking of the small tactician back in her tent. Somehow, despite her noticeable absence, the prince must have known where her thoughts had gone.

He bowed his head.

"She already knows it, Milord."


	8. Raging Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fearless knight, what will you do to keep her from ruin?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> buckle up for a double-length chapter, we have a war to conclude~

* * *

 

 

The march was quiet as the Shepherds retreated back across the Feroxi border.

Frederick had seen to it that the mourning royal siblings were given the privacy their own wagon for the journey, and Chrom sat in the dim silence, one arm around his sister's shoulders as she dozed fitfully across his lap.

_You left too soon, Emm…_  he thought as Lissa leaked another tear in her sleep.  _How are we going to do this without you..?_

He looked up as he felt the wagon come to a halt, frowning and resisting the urge to rub at the dark circles under his eyes. The march couldn't be over already, they had just set off…

His confusion was assuaged when a petite, cloaked figure climbed in through the back curtains. At first, he thought it was Robin; but his relief faded as the visitor's hood fell back to reveal a rosy cascade of adorned hair. The woman in question shrank back a step as she realized the prince was awake and watching her.

"S-s- _sorry_!" Her soft voice trembled as she clutched a shapeless parcel to her chest. Chrom recognized her then, it was the same woman that had smuggled them out of Plegia in a dancer's caravan, another loyal asset of Regna Ferox. He gave a tired exhale.

The dancer fidgeted as she felt the wagon driver start up their rolling pace once again. Steeling herself, she stepped forward to explain her intrusion.

"I… I thought you might need…" her voice failed her again as her face flushed in the darkness. Dropping her eyes to the floor, she shuffled over and deposited her armful on the bench seat: blankets a large water-skin. Chrom blinked at the offering.

"Thank you," he managed after a moment, looking up to discover that the dancer had already fled the scene. The prince gazed after her as the edge of her cloak slipped back through the curtains.

Returning his attention to the items she left, he gently arranged his sister with a cushion before slumping against the wall more comfortably. Before he had realized just how exhausted he was, sleep had already overtaken him.

 

* * *

 

Frederick saw the pink-haired dancer leave the company of his charges. He watched her leap back off the moving carriage, stumbling as she hit the ground in a way that was somehow still graceful.

On any other day, the knight would have set upon her immediately for disturbing Chrom and Lissa's solitude – but as it was, he simply sat back and watched the shy creature pull her hood up and return to her dancer's carriage. Part of him was only dissuaded because he had witnessed her intentions. The girl was a trusted ally, and a harmless-looking one at that. The rest of him was too distracted to care.

The knight was preoccupied because Robin had decided to hold his hand.

They rode on his horse alongside the caravan, a familiar situation that was only compromised when Robin reached out and claimed his grip from the reins. He was worried, at first; since their morning had been spent in relative silence and glassy eyes. She still looked so breakable to him. But as he felt her twine her fingers with his, and gently tug his arm across her body, he couldn't help the bloom of affection in his chest. After last night, the action felt… intimate.

With the loss of the Exalt still weighing upon him, Frederick couldn't quite smile – not yet. But his harsh frown softened, and he could swear his heart beat stuttered.

Robin was the distraction that managed to keep him composed as the otherwise solemn march continued. With her small hand in his, he could think of nothing else but her presence. He found himself staring at her every chance he could get. Had her eyes always been so pretty? And her chin so delicately curved? She was so striking, so lovely… How could he have ever looked upon her with disdain?

How did he not know she was  _beautiful_?

Frederick sighed, sorely tempted to pull his passenger into a tighter embrace. Instead, he continued to steer his mare one-handed, mulling over his thoughts in silence. He dared not even think about the implications of his emotions concerning the woman in his lap. Such feelings were not…  _appropriate_ … for a knight to share with Ylisse's tactician.

And yet, he found himself secretly longing to have them returned.

 

* * *

 

"Gods, I was just so powerless…"

The Feroxi throne room was hauntingly quiet. The rest of the Shepherds looked on as their prince and his impromptu war council discussed their next move.

Frederick winced to overhear his lord's heartache. But Robin was here now, and she knew just what to say to comfort her friend. Frederick watched them talk, even catching the flicker of relief on Robin's face when Chrom absolved her of any remaining guilt.

"Together… maybe we can be something more."

Frederick couldn't help but frown at Robin's soft words to the prince. It almost sounded like… but no, the two of them were just good friends, nothing else. He felt a wash of shame for even considering the thought at such a time as this.

But he continued to listen intently as the tactician comforted her mourning friend. And when Chrom swept her up in a bone-crushing hug, Frederick found his emotions in a snarl.

"My Shepherds… my warriors…" the prince finally turned to address the group, "There is work to be done."

When the council finally seemed to have adjourned, Frederick made a beeline for the prince. He wasn't quite sure what he wanted to say, but he figured he would start with another apology for his shortcomings. However, he soon noticed that he wasn't the only person in line to speak with his liege – the pink-haired woman had beaten him there.

"I'd like to go too, if I may…" a trembling, melodic voice insisted to the prince's back.

"Hm?" Chrom turned to find the source.

The dancer pulled on her hair with nervous hands as she dropped her eyes from his face. "T-the Exalt did me a kindness once. It would honor me to have a part in her justice!" The newfound strength in her voice floundered as she continued. "Although all I can do is dance… And I'm not so skilled at that, if we're being honest…" she was practically mumbling by the end.

"Nonsense!"

Kahn Basilio marched his way into the conversation, clapping a hand on the girl's hunched shoulders with a boisterousness that made Frederick start and freeze at the ready, the way one does when fine china nearly falls from the table. To his relief, the small dancer seemed not to shatter so easily.

"Olivia here is a Feroxi treasure! You won't meet a finer dancer in all the realms!" The Kahn boasted. "She inspires soldiers to work twice as hard – you'd do well to bring her along." He winked at the prince.

The dancer turned strawberry-red and seemed to give up on any response of her own. She all but hid behind Basilio until the kahn had said his piece and gone tromping off again.

"So… your name is Olivia?"

The dancer looked up to find that she now had the young lord's undivided attention, which only made her color further.

"Y-yes, sire!"

The prince rubbed the back of his neck and stuck out his hand. "Well um… welcome aboard. I'm Chrom."

After a moment of hesitation, she reached out to shake it gingerly.

Frederick watched them like a hawk; astounded that the prince, given his poor track record with women, managed to get even two words out of such a timid girl. Around him, the rest of the Shepherds began to filter out of the room; leaving just the two targets of his scrutiny… and one other hand tugging on his sleeve.

The knight blinked, looking down to find Robin at his side.

' _Let them be,'_  her expression seemed to say.

Sparing one last glance over his shoulder at the prince and his stuttering conversation partner, Frederick ignored his better instincts and followed his companion quietly out of the room.

Their shadows flickered on the torchlit walls as they made their way down to the fort's barracks, where the rest of the Shepherds were bedding down for the night. Frederick wondered if it would be acceptable to reach out and take her hand again while they walked. And although he yearned to do so, he refrained.

Before they reached their destination, however, Robin drifted to a stop in the middle of an empty hall, prompting him to follow suit.

"…What's wrong?" he asked gently, mindful of the troubled look on her face.

The tactician fiddled with the hem of her sleeves.

"Do you…" she paused, unsure of how to continue.

Frederick tried to catch her averted eyes. He pursed his lips, wanting very much to reach out and smooth away the anxious creases in her brow.

Robin tried again.

"Will you... stay with me, again? Tonight…?" She finally managed, her face both pleading and contrite.

Frederick felt his heart pick up pace. He had been aching to hear such an invitation. The words were addictive - he could spend another night by her side, if only he accepted. And he wanted to. Very badly.

But he sighed.

"That would be… unwise. What would our comrades think?" He frowned at the thought, envisioning the close quarters of the barracks' bunks. In the privacy of Robin's tent, their previous night together had gone unnoticed; but Frederick knew that making a habit out of it was asking for trouble. Gossip was the last thing they needed.

"I don't care what they think…" she mumbled.

He swallowed the giddy spike of hope at her statement.

"Robin…"

"Please?"

She locked eyes with him, and the knight looked genuinely torn.

"Robin, you must think of your reputation," Frederick insisted, "You are Ylisse's Grandmaster strategist. For us to be seen sharing a bedchamber…" he almost tripped over the words, distracting thoughts tugging at his resolve, "It would be… terribly indecent…"

Her eyes lowered with guilt. "I know."

"Then you understand why…?"

He let the sentence hang, arms caught half-extended in a useless gesture. He wished he could sweep back her hair, or glide his fingers over her temple – anything to ease the distress on her face.

"Yes," Robin admitted with a grimace. "I… I'm sorry. Just forget I said anything." She shook her head, turning to hurry away down the hall.

Her movement was halted, however, when Frederick snagged her wrist. She looked up to see a tangle of emotions in his dark eyes.

"There is no need to apologize," he frowned.

That only seemed to embarrass her further. Robin clenched her jaw and tried to worm her way out of his hold.

"Come now," he chided as she turned stubbornly away from him. "You know that I wish to share your company as well..."

"Do you?" she mumbled, almost to herself. Before he could object, a sour, weak laugh bubbled up from her throat, and she shook her head in shame. "Gods, I'm so selfish… I shouldn't be asking you for  _anything_ , you've done so much for me already-"

"And I would do more." He cut her off, his tone harsher than he intended. Did she not realize how little it would take to convince him to consent to her wishes?

"But you shouldn't," Robin grimaced, "It's not fair to the others."

_Hang the others…_  he wanted to say. But that would be a sentiment ill-befitting his station.

The knight tried to dial back the intensity of his gaze as he felt Robin tug again on her captive wrist. He let the action pull him closer, herding her away from her escape.

"I care about  _you,_ " he insisted in a soft voice.

His heart was thudding in his ears. Robin had ceased her wriggling at the unexpected proximity, and she froze as her back met the cool stone wall. Frederick towered over her, suddenly overwhelmed by his position. No, it wasn't fair to put her first, but he couldn't help it. Robin,  _his_   _Robin_ , had survived so much; and  _still_  he feared he might lose her to the war. He braced an arm against the wall. The thought made him weak.

Deep down, he wanted to be selfish. He wanted to take Robin and ride off into the night, to somewhere safe – where they could forget the horrors of the past and be together. He wanted to hold her and never let go, to never again watch her stride into danger.

Life was so short, especially in wartime… Why couldn't they be selfish?

_Because I am a knight_ , was his answering thought.

He let out a growl of frustration.

Robin looked up at the sound, and the last of his moral barriers crumbled under her gaze. No, she was not his lord or lady… but she deserved happiness. And he would grant it – duty or not.

Swallowing his reservations, Frederick steeled himself to do something very… un-knightly.

Whatever words Robin was about to say remained caught in her throat, as she felt his hand relinquish its hold to carefully lace his fingers through hers. His other palm came to rest against the side of her neck, pushing a firm thumb under her chin to keep her wary eyes locked with his.

The look on his face was calm and serious as he lifted their entwined hands, and deliberately grazed his lips across her knuckles.

"Tell me what you want." He ordered in a quiet tone.

Robin swallowed. Her skin burned where he had kissed it.

"I don't…" her words faded with her confidence.

The knight shifted his hand to rub his thumb along her cheek.

"Tell me."

He leaned further down, doing his best to shorten the distance as his calloused fingers reached along her neck and into her hair.

"I…" she hesitated again, her voice dropping to a barely audible level. "I want you to... stay. I don't want to be left alone..."

Frederick let out a silent breath, resigning himself to his decision – decency be damned.

"Then I shall."

It was hard for him to feel as guilty as he should, watching Robin try to hide her relief. He rubbed his thumb over her cheek again, unwilling to let her go. She was so beautiful, so soft…

He could imagine letting his hand drift over to angle her chin, leaning in just a few more inches…

But no, that would be pushing it too far.

Instead, he anchored his palm, and placed a reverent kiss on her forehead; allowing himself the luxury of lingering just a few moments too long.

When he pulled back, he was surprised to find that Robin had turned a very adorable shade of pink. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he latched onto the hope that she was blushing from affection, rather than embarrassment. Frederick stepped away, re-gifting the tactician her personal space. She was uncharacteristically quiet as he lead the way back through the empty halls, heading in the opposite direction of the barracks to seek out safer quarters; and he began to wonder if he had overstepped his boundaries with that last gesture.

The only thing that quelled the knight's fretting mind was the small hand that, despite everything, remained tightly curled around his.

 

* * *

 

There was whispering the next day.

Between Shepherds and Feroxi alike, hushed voices began to leak hesitant gossip. Some of it revolved around a certain great knight, who had not only gone missing the evening before, but had also skipped breakfast and morning chores for the first time on record. When Frederick was eventually sighted amongst the company, his increased gravitation to Robin continued to raise eyebrows.

Another portion of the whispering was attributed to the prince: who, despite still recovering from the tragedy, eased the tension of his brow when by the side of the soft-spoken dancer. Olivia, though little more than a mirage to most, was frequently sighted trailing shyly behind her new commander.

The most important rumors, however, arrived in the form of the Feroxi scouts.

Word had traveled in a frenzy across the realm that the once-mighty Plegian army had fallen into disarray. And when a breathless group of Feroxi soldiers brought witness news of the Mad King's forces torn by infighting, and waves of deserters chanting the martyred Exalt's name, the prince and his comrades could scarce believe it.

Orders were given at once to prepare for a final campaign into the bleeding heart of Plegia. The Khans rallied every last man in their forces. The Shepherds cleaned out their weapon reserves, readied the convoy, and stoked the fires of their resentment. The war council convened once again, with Robin spinning battle plans like spiderwebs from the head of the table.

Frederick watched her, entranced by every dance of her fingers and word off her tongue. He could see the venom in her eyes as she devised Plegia's downfall, brandishing her intellect as one would a carving knife. But for all the awe he held, witnessing her at her craft, he could only watch for so long.

It was the war-monk who found Frederick in the fort's tiny chapel, brushing the dust off of a bench so he might kneel. The armored man bowed his head to the empty altar, feeling very much like a newly knighted squire before the divines: unworthy, and lost for words.

Libra cleared his throat in the doorway.

"It gladdens me to see someone besides myself in these chambers," he spoke, earning the attention of the knight. The monk gave a wistful smile as he came to kneel at the same bench. "But something tells me you aren't here simply to offer your devotion, Sir Frederick."

"And why would you think that?"

Libra cast him a knowing glance. "Not just anyone would excuse themselves from their liege's war table looking as troubled as you do."

After a moment, the knight gave a resigned sigh. "…I have come seeking counsel."

"Well, Naga is listening," Libra replied, gesturing to the stone ceiling as if he could envision the heavens beyond it. "And so am I, should you choose to share your prayers."

The two of them sat in companionable silence for a minute or so, while words tumbled over each other in Frederick's mind, weighing what should be spoken.

"I've served the royal house of Ylisse for many years," Frederick finally said, his brow furrowed as he stared ahead into the chipped wood grain of the altar. "I pledged myself to the line of the Exalted, marked by Naga herself... and I have always held this to be… the right path."

"… And you fear to have strayed?" Libra prodded gently when the knight fell quiet.

Frederick only dipped his head lower. "As this war nears its end, I wish I could say that my only thoughts are with my departed queen… but they are not."

Libra hesitated before voicing his next words.

"Is this because of Robin?"

Frederick's eyes flashed up to meet his, daring the monk to speak gossip. But he found only the patient gaze of a confessional attendant.

"I may have only been with this company for a short time, Sir Frederick, but I  _am_  a priest. Don't think that I don't know love when I see it," Libra chided as the knight glowered and shoved himself up to sit back on the bench. "And don't be so quick to sully such a thing with shame."

"And why should I not?" Came the clipped reply.

"Because you are a just man, and she is a selfless woman - such feelings are nothing other than a blessing."

"I am a knight at  _war._  How is it not sacrilege?" Frederick snapped, the words marred by an undercurrent of despair. "Gods above, she wears a  _Plegian coat!_ For all we know, she could hail straight from the den of our enemies!"

"Naga would not care – and neither should you," the monk responded with patience, "I've heard much about the self-sacrificing deeds of Ylisse's tactician. Surely  _you_  know by now that she is a good person."

"…Undoubtedly."

"Then have faith that you are in Naga's good graces," Libra said simply. "To devote your every thought to the stewardship of your lieges, or the mourning of your queen, is a function better left to the common servant. You are a knight pledged to the nation of Naga's chosen: destined, I'm sure, to play a greater role. The way I see it, you have been given a powerful motive to stay your course, and pursue peace.

The knight looked unconvinced, and Libra sighed.

"Tell me, Sir Frederick, do you… fear to lose her?"

The knight started at the words, his mind conjuring up unbidden imaginings of Robin meeting her end on the battlefield. Reckless fighter that she was, he had seen more than enough close calls to fuel such visions.

How it pained him now to know that she had danced so close, so often to the edge of the afterlife. After having lost his queen… he could not bear to lose another.

"… The idea haunts me every hour," he finally admitted.

"And you would face the Mad King himself to keep her from harm?"

"I plan to." The conviction in his voice was hard as flint.

Libra turned back towards the altar. "You should know, then, that many of our comrades march forth with nothing but anger in their hearts. They seek retribution for what they've suffered, it blinds them. It can't be helped, they are only human – but it is toxic nonetheless."

Frederick said nothing as he processed his words.

"This is why you haven't strayed from your path," Libra concluded. "So long as you endeavor to preserve one life, rather than end a hundred others, you walk with Naga. When the time comes to fight, I have no doubt that you will serve as Ylisse's shield rather than her throwing knives. Which, I believe, is what our Lady Emmeryn would have preferred."

Frederick sighed. He raised his eyes to the ceiling, but could see only stone and rafters. He didn't deserve such patient assurances from a man of Naga, and yet he hoped they were true. If ever there was a time and place to pray – he  _prayed_  they were true.

"Your input is much appreciated," Frederick said finally, rising from his seat.

Libra looked over his shoulder as the knight made for the door, before seeming to remember something.

"I would also appreciate-"

"Confidentiality?" The monk guessed, hiding a wry smile.

"Yes."

Libra raised a hand in oath. "You have it, of course. Though if I may say," he added in a lighter tone, "You needn't burden yourself with so much worry over Robin. I saw her myself on the battlefield – she's quite strong. I daresay she could take even  _you_  in a fight."

Frederick frowned. As if such a suggestion would keep him from the familiar gut-wrenching fear of watching Robin charge into danger. But he held back his retort.

" _Good day_ , Brother Libra."

The monk sighed as the departing tread of armored boots left him to his solitude... and figured an extra prayer on the troubled knight's behalf couldn't hurt.

 

* * *

 

"…You want to  _fight_  me?"

Robin nodded, tossing a wooden sword in the knight's direction. Frederick caught it without taking his eyes from hers.

"It's about time I put my skills to the test," she explained, unclasping her cloak and dropping it on a nearby crate. Her elegant armor plates had suffered the same fate, and lay stacked in a neat pile as Robin stretched and rolled her shoulders.

They were barely a week into the march, but the grandmaster was already seeming more like her old self. The fire had returned to her eyes; she walked with purpose and held herself with confidence once more. And Frederick couldn't be happier to see her smiles reappear.

He had been taken by surprise, however, when she managed to coax him from tending to his horse that evening, and out to the camp's makeshift sparring pit. It had been quite some time since their last training session together – as Robin had grown quite capable, and had taken to practicing on her own. Yet here she stood, the sunset's last rays glinting through her pale hair, making a demand that the knight never would have expected from her.

"We've tested your skills many times over," Frederick reminded her with a hint of amusement. "I daresay you don't need any more instruction."

She shook her head. "That's not what I mean. With you, training is always drills, drills, drills... I think you owe me a proper sparring match by now," she quipped, raising her wooden weapon with a theatrical flourish.

Frederick quirked an eyebrow at her, and she gestured impatiently.

"Very well," he acquiesced, "But if we're to be on even footing…" he set his practice sword aside and set to work stripping off his own armor.

"You don't have t-"

Robin's protests were interrupted by the clatter of metal plates on the ground. Frederick gave her a challenging look as he proceeded to shrug out of his jacket and pull loose his necktie.

"There," he announced, crisply rolling up his sleeves and reclaiming the wooden sword. He mimicked her stance, pretending not to notice the way her eyes were skirting up and down his form.

Frederick gave a disapproving huff as he sized her up, imagining the bruises his small adversary would sustain without proper protection. How stubborn this woman could be… but if she planned to spar without her armor, then he would be damned not to follow suit. At the very least, the vulnerability would remind him to pull his punches.

The knight grimaced internally. As if he needed  _help_  achieving that mindset. He was already floundering in his resolve to raise even the most harmless of blades against Robin, but he did his best to swallow his more distracting thoughts on the matter. It was just training, after all.

"Whenever you're ready," he prodded after a moment.

Robin's expression was shielded, unreadable. She adjusted her position, and Frederick watched her eyes harden in concentration while he waited for her to make the first move.

She lunged forward.

He had expected a chaotic slash to parry, but was instead surprised to see her blade arc through a meticulous pattern. He shuffled through the footwork of his defense, his weapon intercepting hers like clockwork, distributing the momentum of her swings so smoothly, it would have appeared rehearsed to an observer. Robin's advance worked in fluid tandem, her breathing even and her calculating eyes on his – together, their movement looked for all the world to be a dance, rather than combat.

The knight couldn't shake the feeling that she was testing him, waiting for something. The patient expression on her face was a far cry from the intensity he had come to expect from her. They continued their weaving swordplay until Robin paused to lower her weapon.

"…What is it?" he asked.

She was frowning at him, almost in annoyance.

"You're not trying."

"Indeed, I am," he objected.

"You're not trying to  _win_ ," she elaborated, her eyes narrowing. "Come on. After all this time, I expected Frederick the Wary would be keen to put me in my place."

"I desire no such thing," he replied, affronted. "You requested to spar, not to drill, as I recall."

She scoffed at that. "And do you spar this way with Stahl or Sully? Or even Chrom?"

Frederick hesitated, in an effort to be truthful.

"…That is a different... scenario."

"How so?"

He stared at Robin, lost for explanation. He couldn't tell her that it was because he could never see her as a subordinate, or a student, or an opponent; not anymore. He couldn't tell her that when he watched her heft her makeshift weapon, he thought of nothing but how lovely she was. He couldn't tell her that, in truth, he had already surrendered to her - and only her.

"Robin, my job is to protect you," he explained instead, "not to best you."

The tactician scowled. "Well, what if  _I_  want to do the protecting for a change?" she challenged.

Frederick opened his mouth, but his immediate thought was to refuse the idea. He couldn't imagine such a thing; to see this clever, beautiful, reckless fool become a shield... taking  _his_  place in the line of fire... He was Frederick the Wary – it was his task to be the impenetrable defender, the unbreakable wall. He was her guardian, and he would die before relinquishing that role.

At the moment, his primary concern was the growing aggravation on her face. It was his responsibility to soothe this too – she had to be assured that there was no cause for upset. As long as he drew breath, she would always be safe.

"Robin…" he reached out like he wanted to take her hand, but she ignored the gesture.

"On your guard," she commanded, readying her stance again.

Frederick sighed, halfheartedly raising his weapon.

This time, she struck like a viper. The knight parried her thrust, staggered by the unexpected power behind it. She whirled around and attacked again, trying to goad him into retaliation. He offered only a simple sweep to her right side that she disengaged with near disdain.

Robin continued her assault, her complex maneuvers growing in brutality. The frustration was evident on her face as Frederick just managed to deflect each one; and when he finally stumbled under her onslaught, she stepped back to circle him, panting.

"Robin, what… do you hope… to achieve from this…?" He demanded, his own lungs beginning to burn from the exertion. She was so much stronger than he had anticipated.

The tactician brought her sword down in another slashing arc, which he held off with a grunt.

"We're – supposed – to be –  _ **equals**_  !" She snapped between swings, her weapon finally meeting his with a resounding crack.

The knight didn't have time to wonder at her implications as she shoved at their interlocked swords and propelled him backwards by his own weight. Robin wasted no time to snag her opportunity, powering a well-timed strike that wrenched his weapon from his hand – sending it to the ground.

Frederick could do nothing but stare down at his companion, as he felt the dull tip of her sword come to rest at his throat.

After a few frozen seconds, Robin seemed to remember who it was at the end of her blade, and her arm sagged, dropping her weapon to graze the dirt instead.

"You think… I don't worry… every battle…?" she panted, "that you won't … make it?"

Frederick felt his heart thud beneath his own belabored breathing.

"I need to be able… to protect you too…" she muttered.

The knight kept his mouth clamped shut, thoughts running wild at her words. Until now, he had hardly dared to guess at her feelings for him, and even then he doubted what he read in those deep eyes of hers. But to finally hear, by Robin's own words, that she reciprocated even a  _fraction_  of the care that he held for her…

Frederick wrangled with his still-hammering pulse. Were he a lesser man, he would claim there were butterflies wreaking havoc in his chest. Wyverns, perhaps, would be a better description.

He couldn't stay at arms distance. Not when Robin stood before him clearly in need of… something. She looked to be torn between the prospects of sulking, pacing, or punting her wooden sword across the field. A tinge of sunlight found her over the horizon, glinting off her furrowed brow and taut shoulders in a faint sheen of sweat. The longer Frederick stared at her, lungs heaving in sync with his, muscles bunched along her lithe limbs, eyes still wild from exertion… the more entranced he became.

He wanted to be closer; to feel her charged skin under the pads of his fingers. This Robin was new to him, fire-wreathed and untamed. She made his blood run molten.

The knight subtly shook himself as Robin's voice snapped him out of his reverie.

"… I'm sorry," she said, the passion in her countenance having finally cooled, "this war just has me so…" She searched for a suitable word, and huffed when she couldn't seem to find one.

"I believe I know the feeling..." Frederick replied, edging towards her. He reached down and gently pried the weapon from her hand, allowing his fingers to brush and linger against hers in a way that was nothing but deliberate.

He knew that his next course of action  _should_  be to return said weapon to the supply cart, but something about the way Robin looked at him kept the knight rooted to the spot. Her gaze flicked down from his own, dancing briefly along his unbuttoned collar and the lines of his chest. Her expression remained carefully schooled.

Frederick was disappointed when she stepped around him, breaking his trance yet again. A feeling not unlike hunger was beginning to take hold of him – demanding her proximity, desiring her attention. He barely had the composure to nod politely as the tactician thanked him for humoring her, and made a hurried excuse about wanting to hit the showers.

He gave a heavy exhale, watching her stride off with her cloak under her arm. His thoughts were restless, tangled with the polar cravings to either follow her or march as far away as possible.

An ice cold bath suddenly sounded like a rather enticing idea.

 

* * *

 

It wasn't much later that Frederick found himself again seeking out Robin's company. Were he of sound mind, he would have kicked himself for being such an addict. However, as he wandered the campsite looking for her, the appearance of his prince cut such indignity short.

"F-FREDERICK, HI. Um… hello."

The knight stopped in his tracks.

Chrom was currently struggling to hide a nearly terrified expression, looking very much like a criminal that had been caught red-handed. Given that the prince's acting skills were already cringe-worthy on a good day, Frederick was immediately suspicious.

"…Milord. Might I ask where you are headed…?" He answered slowly.

"Nowhere! I mean-" Chrom shifted his weight, resisting the urge to smack a hand to his forehead at his own botched recovery. "I-I'm going to bed.  _Straight_  to bed."

Frederick narrowed his eyes and planted himself in the prince's path.

" _Milord."_

Chrom swallowed.

Frederick almost felt like the same young retainer he had been ten years ago, facing down a guilty royal child. He gave his prince a hard look; assuring without words that he was still not above scruffing his cape should he try to run.

"If there is something I should be concerned with…" the knight fished for an explanation.

"No-no! Everything is fine! Robin is f- I mean- we are  _ALL_  fine! Nothing to worry about – I didn't even really see anything..."

Frederick raised an eyebrow at the nervous rambling.

"And where is Robin?" He countered smoothly.

"Women's Bathing Tent."

Chrom seemed to notice his mistake as he spoke. He took an involuntary step back as the towering knight's face slipped from a suspicious expression into something darker.

"... I-I think I'll be turning in for the night."

"That would be wise, milord."

Frederick was almost reluctant to let the prince escape after piecing the scene together, but the cold promise of danger in his tone sent Chrom speed-walking to the other side of camp. Determined to track down Robin, the knight marched off in the direction of her quarters, not quite caring about who witnessed him doing so.

"So  _now_  you decide to knock…" a grumbling voice greeted him as he rapped a knuckle as best he could outside the entrance to Robin's tent. Her face, however, fell into surprised relief when she turned around to see him step over the threshold. "Oh, Frederick, it's you."

The smile she gave him calmed his nerves a bit.

"Were you expecting someone else?"

She shook her head. "No… I just recently had a  _less than pleasant_  mishap with an unexpected visitor," she growled. "...We really need to get signs for the bathing tents, by the way."

"So that's how the issue arose," Frederick hummed, taking a seat beside her on the cot.

Robin sighed in chagrin. "He told you…?" They both knew who she was referring to.

"More or less," the knight hedged.

She simply glowered and mumbled something about stupid, slack-jawed princes.

"You should know that Lord Chrom is currently a very, very terrified man." Frederick offered, trying to catch her averted gaze.

She snorted. " _Good_."

That managed to charm a smile out of her companion, although beneath his calm demeanor, a tangle of emotion was still lodged in his chest. The thought of the prince – of  _anyone_  – intruding on Robin in such a state was not… pleasant. In fact, if he didn't know better, Frederick would say that it angered him. At the same time, he couldn't help but feel almost possessive, frustrated; as if he should have known to guard the door.

Hours later, he would finally recognize such stirrings as the mark of jealousy.

Such a dangerous, selfish emotion to be bridled with. The knight frowned as he stared at the ceiling of the tent where he had once again agreed to stay the night. Robin lay in the loose curve of his arm, breathing evenly in the respite of peaceful sleep, unaware of his plight. It was unfair that she should be the object of such shameful greed – and Frederick did his best to scrub any remnants of it from his mind.

He had almost managed to clear his head enough to fall asleep, when Robin's unconscious form began to tense and shift.

He smoothed her hair back with a hand, hoping that the action would placate her – but she only twitched and let out a keening whine that chilled his veins. Her eyelids creased and fluttered as her jaw tightened and her breathing picked up speed. Muffled sounds of pain continued to leak from her locked throat.

Frederick was nearly to the point of alarm when she finally breached consciousness with a gasping sob.

"Robin!" his frantic whisper was nearly lost in her continued distress.

" _stop…!_ _ **Please**_ _! It h-hurts… Pl-e-e-ease…_ " her voice shattered into more sobs.

Her words felt like weights dropping straight through his stomach, hollowing him to the point where he felt sick.

" _Shhh_ , Robin… you're here, you're okay…" Frederick tried to keep his own voice from wavering as he rubbed nervous circles on her arms, willing her to open her eyes. "It was only a nightmare…"

Yet even so, he couldn't shake the dread that nested in his thoughts. Robin had spoken before of the horrors that plagued her sleep, but to watch her struggle out of such torment firsthand had shaken the knight like nothing else could. After all, the prospect of assuaging her nightmares was the reason he had first agreed to sleep by her side. He had promised he would protect her, that he would keep such terror at bay; and for a time, it had appeared to be working…

But it would seem that his presence was no longer enough.

Gradually, Robin calmed, and found her footing back in reality. She hesitantly turned in his hold, and he wrapped a protective arm around her back, tucking her head under his chin.

"Frederick…" she mumbled against his shirt with a shaky breath, "…it was… awful…"

"I know," he swallowed.

"It was my back this time… the ones with the bone-masks… they put me on a table…"

She shuddered in his arms, and he fought to not do the same.

"You're safe now, I am here." He rubbed more circles into her back, concentrating on keeping his touch gentle. They were silent for a minute or so.

"… I wasn't alone."

The knight paused his ministrations, leaning back to give her his attention.

"There was a little boy with white hair…" Robin winced as she recalled the dream, "He… he screamed so much…"

And just like that she was bound back up in his embrace, his hands scrunched into the fabric of her shirt.

"…We don't have to talk about it," he murmured.

Robin nodded against his collarbone.

Frederick sat patiently while together, their thudding pulses returned to normal. He hesitated to smooth a hand once more across her back – but when she did not object, he relished in the feel of her, warm and alive, under his palm. He prayed to  _Naga_  that the dreams remained just that - only dreams. Because the mere thought of Robin undergoing such horrors in the waking world… it would bring him to his knees.

But she was safe here, with him. The knight traced his fingers up the line of her shoulder blade, only stopping when the more sensible part of his mind realized that he had reached bare skin. He closed his eyes, removing his hand with no small amount of reluctance. He was acutely aware of how close they were, with her folded into his chest just so, and lacking the barrier of her cloak between them. The thought was both satisfying, yet somehow not enough.

Not wanting to push his luck, Frederick sighed and loosened his hold.

"You should try to get some sleep…" he murmured above her head, the words trailing off into her hair.

Robin didn't answer. Instead, she heaved a sigh of her own, turning to rest her cheek against him as she skimmed an idle hand along his arm. A prickling wave of warmth seeped through him in response, effectively rendering the knight silent as Robin trailed her feather-light touch over his sleeve.

It took Frederick a few moments to recognize the pattern of her movement. The fingers that had started on his forearm traveled upwards, drawing precise hatch-marks along the way. When they reached his shoulder they dipped and weaved in a familiar, mottled shape, outlining the crescent ridges that lay just underneath the thin fabric of his shirt. She was tracing scars.

Frederick couldn't help his sharp intake of breath as her hand continued its path over the planes of his chest. She followed the heaviest seams in his flesh like braille; and as much as he wished to seek out her gaze, to guess at what she was thinking, he dared not disrupt her. The darkness of the tent made every wash of sensation surreal – and for once, the knight was free to relish in the luxury. There was no danger breathing down their necks in this moment, and no wounds to heal or tears to wipe away. It was just the two of them, hidden away from the world... a sanctuary made all the more sweeter by Robin's rare gift of affection. How strange it was, that a simple touch from her could fill him with such heat and emotion. Surely, she could hear the way his heart was thundering under her cheek.

Frederick swallowed, as the line of a scar led Robin's fingertips to ghost along the exposed skin at his collar.

In the burning wake of her touch, the hunger that had taken hold of him was brought back tenfold. His shirt was much too hot – he wished he could be rid of it, and feel her smooth skin against his own. He longed to return her actions, to memorize the details of her body with his own calloused hands. And he realized that he wanted, very badly, to do away with the last of his knightly reservations and kiss her senseless – to lay claim to her heart so thoroughly that even the nightmares would not dare to touch her again.

As if sensing the direction of his thoughts, Robin finally stilled her fingers and shifted in his arms. Thinking that she wished to extract herself, he reluctantly unwound his hold; only to be corrected by a gentle tug pulling him back down to the bedroll. His spirits soared as she cocooned them both in a blanket and wriggled back into his embrace, much closer than she usually slept.

"Frederick…?" her quiet voice gave him pause, and he peered down to meet her searching eyes. His heart was still galloping like a stallion, and under her stare, it was all the more difficult for him to rein in his desires.

"Yes?"

"If we do cross blades with the Grimleal again…" her voice trailed off, betraying a tinge of fear as hazy images from her nightmares flickered across her vision. "Please… promise me you'll stay safe."

"Of course," he hummed in response. They would  _both_  be safe – he elaborated in his head. He would see to it with every ounce of his guardian merit.

Satisfied, Robin breathed a contented sigh, and snuggled more comfortably into his chest. It took her only minutes to drift back to sleep, although Frederick was another story. His hands splayed and curled against her back, wishing to anchor her to him. His thoughts were going a mile a minute, replaying the events of the evening, and exploring the very real possibility that… perhaps… Robin returned his feelings.

For he was sure, by this point, of just how entrenched he had become. Months ago, he could never have imagined that he would come to care so deeply for the nameless amnesiac that had been plucked from a field and shoved under his nose. Yet here he lay, with her enfolded in his arms like his most precious possession.

And he knew, then, that he could no longer ignore the blatant truth. Despite his own doubts at the time, it would seem the monk had been right.

Wholly and indisputably, he loved her.

 

* * *

 

The days were ticking down, and with every mile they forged back into the wastes of Plegia, the Shepherds hardened their hearts and sharpened their swords.

The desert gave way to dry brush and infertile plains, with the occasional Risen stumbling about like lost scarecrows. Each time one was sighted, the hate in Robin's eyes would deepen ever so slightly; and by her own hand she would cut them down. Frederick rode by her side, and each time he watched her smite another walking corpse from this trail of breadcrumbs, his heart would ache; for he wished above all else to spirit her away, far out of the reaches of Plegia and its horrors.

As predicted, there was little military resistance to meet the company, with the last of the loyal Plegian forces holed up with their deranged king. Feroxi scouts had all but pinned down where Gangrel would make his final stand, and like hounds on the hunt, the Shepherds and their infantry closed in.

Robin, of course, had a plan. And this time, it truly was perfect.

The maps that she presented to the war council promised annihilation, with the Shepherds poised to take center stage in the mad king's demise. She spoke of inventory and squad assignments with all the tranquil eeriness of the calm before the storm.

But when she announced that she and Chrom planned to lead the charge, her words filled Frederick with the utmost dread.

The knight had half a mind to overstep the boundaries of his station, to lay his fist on the war table and demand that the battle plans be redrawn. But he knew that his plea would go unheeded, if he dared to speak over the royals and strategists gathered there. Never before had he felt so powerless, standing guard just over the shoulder of both his liege and his love; with no more rebellion in his posture than a clenched jaw and furrowed brow.

Frederick cornered Robin after the meeting, but she was firm in the council's decision. With the battle imminent, she would not retract the preparations; although to hear the worry in the knight's voice, her face was softened into a brief, reassuring smile – just for him. Everything would be fine, she told him. This time, her strategy was adaptable, fail-safe: there were no factors left to a gamble, and no twists of fate that she herself could not handle from the front lines.

And so that night, Frederick simply prayed. He prayed looking up at the stars, and staring into the fire, and murmuring into Robin's hair while she slept soundly in his arms.

For him, the morning of the battle arrived all too quickly.

 

* * *

 

Wind ghosted across the dirt of the battlefield, hallowed like a gravesite ready to be filled.

Overhead, the sun had long since hidden behind clouds that roiled with the threat of cyclones, rather than rain. The air was heavy despite its smooth gusting, and the breeze seemed to lift every cape and ribbon of hair in a mesmerizing, ominous swell. Across the landscape, a distant, frothing monarch shrieked and cackled; although he could barely be heard.

The grandmaster and the prince held their heads high and their steps measured; readied in their position, the razor tip of an arrowhead on a drawn bow. Much further back, a particularly anxious knight gripped the shaft of his lance with too much force, fighting against every instinct that urged him to abandon his post and join them.

When the Mad King's taunting finally gave way to the thunder of the charge, Frederick felt like he was plunged underwater. The first clash of weapons echoed through the dark atmosphere.

There was a dancer by his side.

She leapt and twirled through the back lines of the Shepherds with a courage no one knew she had possessed. With every gesture and dainty step, the fair Olivia rallied those who lay in wait for their turn in the carnage. Their comrades would whoop and holler their battle-cries to see her dance beneath Ylisse's banner, and not a single person set a toe out of line in Robin's plan.

Frederick strained to keep Robin and Chrom in his sights. Every move was muffled and dreamlike, sinking through the layers of his mind as the first wave of the battle set to motion. It was his assignment to guard Olivia, and support the pegasi. It felt wrong.

He should be on the front lines, by Robin's side, and at his liege's back. To watch them fight from a perspective so far away was strange and agonizing. It almost didn't seem real – surely, they were mirages, to leave him in the dust as they did. The other Shepherds cheered them on. Those lucky enough to be sent forward during the first stage of the battle could hear Robin's own words as she issued their orders. Frederick could not.

The conflict began to pick up speed as the enemy mobilized. The back lines saw very few foes, and those that did happen to make it so far met a grisly end at the hands of charged, vengeful Shepherds. They fell upon the Plegian forces with an almost disturbing glee, tearing through the battlefield like packs of wolves let loose in a pasture. But Frederick could not find room in his mind to push the lines as they did. He raised his lance, intercepted blows, steered his horse in the path of arrows and blades - but those he guarded were all too eager to leap in and finish the job.

Ricken was the first casualty, though a minor one. Frederick's gaze zeroed in on the grandmaster's pointing arm as she instructed the young mage to retreat. The form of a pale emerald dragon covered his back as the boy jogged towards the healers as best he could, hair sticky with blood that may or may not have been his.

He was patched up in record time, Maribelle even threatening to clock him with her staff if he didn't wipe the proud look off his face. Frederick paced his horse nearby, wishing that the healer's line would move faster down the field, so that he might inch closer to the fighting – closer to Robin. He escorted Olivia towards the western flank as per his orders, eyes combing the field for any unanticipated bowmen before the Pegasus battalion was to begin their second rush.

The battle progressed. Reinforcements were called. The knight worried and paced and guarded.

Robin had explained that the perfection of her plan lay in calm-minded flexibility. She knew who to send where, when to change positions, and what opportunities to take. She knew never to leave a disadvantaged Shepherd without backup; and she knew her enemies.

She knew her enemies all too well.

Something continued to draw Frederick's eyes to the spearhead of the conflict, where Chrom and Robin wheeled about each other, striking Plegians down in a twirl of light and dark. Perhaps it was a sense, racing around his mind like the churning clouds overhead, that something was destined to go wrong.

Glancing back again, the knight could just make out a new line of shrouded mages in the enemy ranks.

Robin had accounted for every one of her comrades in her orchestration, and upon seeing the squad of magic-wielders join the Plegian forces, she  _should_  have called for the pegasi; biding her time until everyone was re-stationed, and their steady advance could continue without a hitch.  _That_  was the plan.

Instead, the tiny Robin far across the field set a hand on Chrom's arm, and raised her own sword. As Frederick watched – tense and confused, and so very out of reach – a fresh sense of waking horror dawned on him. The faces of these new adversaries were little more than smudges to him across the wind-whipped plains… yet somehow he knew they were not faces at all, but masks. Masks of bone.

_Grimleal_ …

Prayers and promises came racing back to him. He had hoped that the mass exodus of their army would have ended the cult's affiliation with their soon-to-be-fallen king. But even this small pocket of supporters was enough to chill his blood. What drew them here, to their death, by the crumbling throne of a warlord they so clearly did not bend their knee to? Was it pride for their god? Their old country? The raw lure of bloodlust?

Was it... Robin?

He couldn't bear to think it. The idea had been chained up in his subconscious, tugging at the possibilities that lay in Robin's forgotten past. Her Plegian coat, her pale hair, the flash of dark recognition in her eyes when anyone spoke of that gods-forsaken cult… there was something to her history that was better left buried.

But it surfaced now, clawing its way up through the bloodstained dirt that Robin readied her stance in. The Grimleal mages advanced to meet her, yet the grandmaster did not call her reinforcements. The Shepherds of the back lines carried on with their last orders – none feeling the same icy, knowing fear that filled Frederick's chest.

He didn't think twice. He didn't think as he shoved a hand down in the face of his assigned ward, and hauled Olivia into the saddle behind him. And he didn't think as he broke rank and spurred his horse across the field, covering a distance that no one else could. All he could do was watch as the Grimleal met Robin's challenge, flinging spells and menacing words that he couldn't hear.

Casting off the tether and drag, time seemed to accelerate again at the same pace of his mare's thundering hooves, and his own adrenaline-spiked pulse.

There were only two left when Frederick finally made it to her side. Chrom was at her back, winded and singed by dark magic, but no more so than she. Robin had a Thoron tome clutched in her white-knuckled hand, and had practically scorched the fallen Grimleal into the ground, picking them off one by one. She turned at the sound of galloping, her vehement eyes growing wide when she found a familiar knight in pursuit, instead of another foe.

" _Frederick_! What are you-?!"

An underhanded attack from her left cut Robin's outburst short, and she returned her attention to her target with a snarl. Frederick kicked in his heels, intent on plowing the cultist over by lance, horse, or both.

Robin, of course, got her strike in first. The sheer force of her attack sent the mage spiraling through the air like a ragdoll.

" _Amateur_ ," she growled beneath the crackle of her tome, watching her prey tumble to a landing in a limp pile.

Frederick reared his horse out of its charge, and felt the weight of his passenger slip out of the saddle. At first, he thought the dancer had fallen; but as he whirled around to recover her, she revealed a purpose to her leap. Brandishing a slim sword that had been strapped, unused, to her hip; Olivia sprinted forward with all the speed and agility of one of her dances. She lashed out at the last adversary, her sword held in an odd, foreign theives' grip – it hardly glanced off her target's parry, but it did buy time for the prince to storm in and gut the man himself.

Robin spared the scene only a glance; satisfied, it would seem, with the work of her friend and his newfound partner. Frederick lowered his lance, the relief of finally reaching her sating him like breath to a drowned man. Not quite knowing what possessed him to do so, he swung a leg over and dismounted with a heavy thud.

He expected Robin to approach him, reprimand him, maybe try and send him back to his post – but her attention was elsewhere. To his confusion, she turned away, and began marching towards the body of the foe she had catapulted.

...He wished that his love would turn to him instead, and perhaps offer some vestige of reassurance in these precious few moments of reprieve. Perhaps he could convince her to retreat from the front – to let one of her waiting warriors take a turn in the bloodshed. But something in the cold determination of her stride held the knight in silence.

She was not finished here.

Robin ignored the armored footsteps that followed her as she knelt down to her quarry. The Grimleal mage gave the barest moan at her approach, his limbs tangled and charred in unnatural positions. In a sudden move, Robin fisted a hand in his torn robes, and yanked him up from the ground.

A peculiar utterance of pain slipped out of the man's mouth, his head lolling back from Robin's grip. Frederick halted at the sound, eyes glued her shaking hand, and the cloud of anger he could barely glimpse on her face.

" _You tell me-_ " she hissed at the man in her grasp, "You tell me  _what the hell they said_."

The mage only coughed up what Frederick  _suspected_  to be a laugh, head still rocking like a broken joint.

Robin jostled him roughly.

" _TELL ME!_ "

Frederick stood frozen. The dark intensity of the scene playing out before him had him paralyzed - so many things latent in the tactician's newly violent actions and venom-drenched voice.  _This was not his Robin_...

The husk of a body she held hacked and shivered in more delirious chuckling. Although he looked almost too far gone to manage such a feat, the mage finally spoke.

"… _Y-o-o-o-u_  don't  _remember_ …!" he rasped out, amusement evident even in such broken syllables. A flash of pain interrupted his laughing as Robin twisted the fabric at his throat.

"What!  _What don't I remember?_!" she snarled.

The cultist groaned as her grip tugged on his injuries. His eyes fluttered briefly before focusing again on her livid face.

" _ **What did you do to me**_ _?"_

Frederick flinched. Robin's harrowing demand struck a chord deep in the caverns of his fears. Some vital little piece to her story he had been missing... nay, that he had  _overlooked_... Because he couldn't bear to question those nightmares of hers, or to return to those early days of suspicion, dissecting details about her. No - he didn't  _want_  to hear this. He couldn't bear it… But it clawed at him, drawing cold realization from her words inch by inch.

Ylisse's fearless amnesiac tactician, so reckless despite her brilliance… hadn't she always shirked the pain of her trials? Claimed she was conditioned to it, even? Robin in her Plegian coat, resurrected from the desert, visited by phantoms in her sleep… implications of a dark tie that had danced like a ghost along the edges of the war.

...Somewhere in her past, she knew these monsters. And she knew  _pain_  from them. And the ragged man under her fist now  _laughed_  and cracked a wide, bloodied grin – as if he knew just what that entailed.

To see the cultist eye Robin with smug, silent victory at her accusation… it was almost as if he knew every  _detail_.

_What they did to her..._

Frederick screwed his eyes shut. His mind whispered such things to him and he fought against it. It couldn't be so. Robin had said… oh  _gods_ , she'd said... as a  _child_... In her nightmares, she was a  _child-_

To imagine it, that his love could have had such real horrors in her past, he could just about be sick.

So absorbed was the knight in his denial and despair that he did not realize Robin had dropped the subject of her interrogation back in the dirt. Her hands shook with anger as she fumbled with the peculiar wrap of cloth that she always kept bound around her left palm.

He caught the barest glimpse of vivid violet lines as Robin shoved the back of her uncovered hand in the cultist's face. And he willed himself not to crumple and bow as he gazed upon the pained fury in her tear-glazed expression.

"You did  _ **this**_?!  _You were there_?" She spat, barely managing to choke out the words as she clenched the fist she held inches from her victim's nose.

A beat of silence followed Robin's levied threat, broken only by the mage's fading, gurgled breath. And in those hanging moments - wherein the man found it in his will to muster one last gleeful, knowing smile - Frederick could swear he heard the snake mutter her name amidst a garbled whisper.

There was no more to be heard from the mage, then, as a boot was planted in his temple.

Robin shoved at the body with her heel, be it unconscious or dead by this point, rolling it over in the dust. She stood there, with her back to the knight whose heart had been rent by the scene.

Frederick stared after her.

In the distance, the battle raged on, oblivious to what had just transpired. Frederick could barely remember his own lord on the other side of his horse, panting through the ache of injuries and leaning on his new partner. Before them all remained the lines of Gangrel's faithful, braced to defend as they marched down the field.

After what seemed like a small eternity, Robin finally turned to him – although with the action, he almost wished she had not. The steeled look on her face was so murderous, so cold, it chased away any ounce of soft comfort he could have gleaned. She paid him no heed; her eyes cut straight through his form as she scoured the field and sized up the remaining enemy forces. Unnatural shadows seemed to reach down her cheekbones from her vehement gaze, a subtle illusion in the dusky atmosphere.

Frederick ducked his head in a grimace. He wished fruitlessly, desperately, that he could turn back time, and find this whole battle to be nothing more than his own nightmare.

Robin marched past him, casting her shrewd look over the tired prince and the fretting dancer by his side. With forced calmness, she instructed the pair to retreat, and seek out a healer.

"Join the east flank when you are recovered…" her quiet voice simmered with restraint, although Chrom took the cool professionalism of her tone in stride with a heavy nod. Had he not tamed his own bitter fire by that point, he might have demanded to return to the front, to end the war by his own hand. But as it was, the determination in Robin's countenance and Olivia's nervous hand on his sleeve were enough to convince him otherwise.

"Be careful, Robin…" the prince told her, earning only a terse nod in response.

He glanced over at his knight, meeting Frederick's eyes with a familiar look as serious as any order. Chrom no longer needed words to request what he always had: guard the tactician. Ensure her safety.

Frederick swallowed, and took a steadying breath. He lifted his chin in acknowledgement.

As the prince and dancer retreated, Robin did not watch them go.

Instead, she faced her enemies, fingers digging into the binding of her tome and the hilt of her sword. Her calm demeanor had evaporated; her jaw now clenched against a sheer, overwhelming wrath.

Frederick, finding his voice, weak though it was, called her name.

Robin shut her eyes against the plea in his tone. The next line of the Plegian defense was almost upon them, and Frederick was fast losing hope that Robin would acquiesce to the caution he begged of her. He debated very briefly with the idea of scooping her up and taking her back despite protest – but she would never forgive him.

The Plegians' war cries became intelligible as they closed in, until Frederick could hear their very footfalls above the wind. Biting back his despair, he mounted his horse; ready to pull Robin up along with him, and at least into the relative safety of his lap.

But she ignored his offered hand, and sprinted into the fray.

 

* * *

 

The knight chased after her.

_Charge. Slash. Parry._

Robin carved a path down the field, sword sparking, and eyes red under the murky sky. Frederick rode at her back, blocking, and striking, and blocking again.

_Stab_. Another enemy weakened.

_"Thoron!"_  Another enemy gone.

The pace that Robin set was a steady, brutal advance towards the throne. Raining destruction, she cleared her path. Beside her, Frederick's heart thundered in his ears, his mind trapped in a hellish carousel of wordless dread and adrenaline.

Every step took them further away from their own allies, and deeper into danger; yet Robin only seemed to grow the frenzy of her attack. Her pale hair ghosted on the wind, weaving those same flickered shadows down from her bright gaze. In his struggle to intercept her retaliators, Frederick verily missed the spectacle that survivors (had there been any) would claim painted the grandmaster as a demon straight out of lore.

But the knight could see only weapons poised at the back of his beloved. He knocked them all away.

_Shove. Skewer. Trample._

_Repeat._

How far had they ventured into enemy territory? How long had they been separated from the rest of the Shepherds? Frederick fought through the haze of dull panic that held him permanently in thrall. Their allies had their orders, but surely they would follow. They  _had_  to be coming. Glancing around, Frederick noticed that Robin's warpath had cleaved a staggering hole in the heart of the Plegian defenses, leaving few adversaries to meet the company proper. Sooner or later, their comrades would be hastening to join them… He had to believe it.

Again and again Frederick circled the brawling grandmaster, the battlefield beginning to feel like his own personal limbo. The burning in his lance-arm was his only indicator of the time that was passing.

Robin did not tire. Like a creature of flame, she scorched and flared and channeled her combustion, heedless of the risk that she too may become ash.  _This_ , the knight saw. And though it dug at him like an arrow in his back, he attended her rampage. He spared only the focus for his one task, his endgame: to see them both through this final battle alive.

Because she  _had_  to live. In the aftermath, it didn't matter how many scars he had to kiss, how many nightmares he had to endure, or how much of her broken self he would have to gather and piece back together after this fury had burned her out. He would do it.

_Anything_ he could overcome, so long as he did not lose her.

Sunk deep in the grim heat of battle, Frederick failed to see the rallying line of Shepherds that galloped across the cleared field with victory in their banners, as the conflict descended towards its conclusion.

But he  _did_  see the gold briars of a crown, and the sparking of a twin Levin sword - as Robin caught sight of her final target.

Gangrel's reviled cackling greeted them; and Robin, incited by the prospect of  _his_  blood finally whetting her sword, snarled and spat at the Plegians in her way. She rushed to dispatch these last few obstacles, careless and wrathful, all while the mad king jabbered on – something about falling boots.

And Frederick could tell, from the raw, dark hatred in her fiery gaze, that his love would stop at nothing –  _nothing_  – to sate her bloodlust, feed her vengeance, and reach this ultimate prize. She would pay any cost for a chance to  _take_  the head of Plegia's king for herself. Even while they still stood surrounded.

The knight swallowed the familiar surge of dread, as past words swam through his mind.

… _You would face the Mad King himself, to keep her from harm…?_

Yes… he would.

Tightening his fist on the reins, Frederick aimed his lance across the clearing, and prepared to charge towards the shrieking monarch at the other end.

He had to end this, before Robin ran herself into the ground at Gangrel's feet. He could make it past these last few adversaries, and sprint for the king. He would brave the shock of magic, and take the searing pain that was sure to arc under his armored plates. If that's what it took to spit this final threat on his spear, then so be it.

As another curl of wind flattened the dry grass of the plains, Frederick reared his horse and hefted his weapon.

A numbing clang sounded against his shoulder.

A grate of metal hooked under his pauldron.

A sudden tug wrenched him backwards.

For a split-second, he was slipping… falling… His steed punched the air with its hooves as Frederick grappled for purchase.

Then he hit the ground,  _hard_.

Black static washed across his vision as the crashing thud of the impact jarred every bone in his metal-strapped body. Above the howling of the wind and the ringing of his ears, he could swear a single, agonized voice called his name. As he struggled to regain control, and push himself up from the ground, the helmet of a Plegian mercenary came into view.

The man wasted no time in planting a foot on Frederick's winded chest, and levering his massive weapon back on his own shoulder. In that instant, the knight paled as he recognized the infamous, hooked blade of the weighted sword.

_Armorslayer._

His assailant brought the blade down in a heavy sweep. Frederick threw up an arm to catch the blow, grunting in pain as the swing met his gauntlet.

Again, the mercenary swung. The knight scrambled backwards, warding off blows with the shaft of his lance.

Another strike; he barely dodged.

The next swing plowed into his shoulder.

Instead of the dull throb of collision, a sharp pain accompanied the ring of metal-on-metal. Frederick glanced down to see the rim of his chestplate dented into his collarbone. Jaw clenched, he held off another slash aimed at his head.

The mercenary bellowed in frustration, swinging wildly, and landing a hearty dent in Frederick's side.

_Crack_.  _Wheeze…_

The pang of cold metal dug into his ribs as Frederick struggled to draw in air.

_Bang_. The dent deepened.

In the distance, someone screamed.

Frederick could feel his grip on his lance slacken… With shallow breaths, he battled against the misshapen vice on his lungs.

The mercenary's harrowing blade whistled through the air yet again.

_Crush._

Frederick's head fell back against the ground as the front of his chestplate caved inward.

The mercenary finally halted his assault, panting as he leaned on the handle of his weapon. Before him, the titan he had felled gasped and choked, vision blurring as his stumbling fingers tried in vain to undo the clasps of his mangled armor. Even trapped in his crippled metal plates, the great knight clung to consciousness with a strength and desperation that was ever unrivaled.

Such a stalwart warrior deserved a quick, honorable end.

Nodding to himself at the thought, the Plegian grunted and took up his sword for a final blow.

_**"THORON."** _

With a thunderclap and a blinding flash, the mercenary was hurled to the ground. In his final, dazed moments, he looked down to find his torso lacerated by magic so potent, it lodged in his chest like a blade. And then, as the demonic woman who stalked towards him so menacingly informed him: he was  _finished_.

Robin seethed, whirling around to seek out any others that had  _dared_  to attack her knight. The wind at her back howled like hellhound baying for its mistress; and her gaze was lit with an otherworldly brightness. To bear her witness, one could almost see the red of her eyes and the mark of her hand reflected in a face that was no longer hers.

But all of it evaporated when she caught sight of the man she fought for.

Frederick lay still.

Yet with every last ounce of his strength, he kept his kept his eyes open, searching for her. Robin's cry, though steeped in rage and rough with malice, had reached him through the layers of panic and pain, and soothed his struggle. All he wanted was to see her face…

His lungs heaved against their twisted bind, but the only sounds he could manage were broken, shallow gasps. Lightheaded as he was, he couldn't feel the seeping blood that dampened his shirt beneath the metal. But he felt cold – increasingly so. And the fear that Robin may yet leave him there, in favor of completing her vengeful conquest, did nothing to assuage the sensation.

But the tactician did no such thing.

She was already at his side, dropping to her knees, when Frederick had finally gathered enough breath to call for her. Though he tried for volume, all that came out was a nearly soundless whisper.

Brought down from her rampage so abruptly, Robin could feel nothing but shock as she began to register the extent of the damage. The anger that had felt so possessing, so smothering before seemed nothing more than a passing shadow. It paled in the wake of the fear that gripped her now.

"No…  _no_ …!" Her shaking hands hovered over the gruesome, crushed metal, " _Frederick!"_ the first hint of tears choked her voice as she leaned into his view, reaching now to hold his face.

When her presence reached him through the dark haze constricting on his senses, he was gifted a moment of anxious joy. Robin had returned to him… no longer the cruel, wrathful creature that had stormed across the plains…

_His_ Robin…

She was so beautiful.

In a brief flurry of vigor, Frederick smiled through his renewed wheezing. He tried to tell her so many things. But his crumpled lungs gave him no voice.

" _Y-you stay with me_!" Robin was frantic now, clutching the sides of his face as it dawned on her. "Keep breathing, you hear me?! I don't care if it's hard, you keep  _breathing_!"

Another wheeze, sticky with blood.

Robin painstakingly released him, and began to claw at the twisted fastenings of his armor, pausing only to yell something over her shoulder.

Frederick grimaced at the pain of her movements – he wished she would stay as she was, with a hand on his cheek and her lovely face above his. His arm twitched as he tried to gather the coordination to raise it. How badly he wanted to hold her again…

_Keep fighting…_ his foggy mind urged him.

Breath after breath he strained. Gradually, the pain began to numb, replaced only by coldness.

Robin yelled again at something behind her, but the distant clamor was lost on the knight's ears. There was a conviction to his thoughts now, as the seeping cold brought with it the realization of the end. Yes, he was fading… and he would go in sorrow.

He couldn't bear to leave her. She had pleaded with him so…

He couldn't bear to leave so many things unsaid.

_Robin…_

It seemed crucial now that he have her attention. His hands tried clumsily to find her. His voice crackled in his empty throat.

More commotion sounded just beyond his perception. Unnoticed by the knight, another pair of hands replaced Robin's - tugging and tearing at the straps wedged under the metal. A strange tingling sensation started up like pinpricks in his side, ebbing over the numbness in waves; but this too, he ignored.

When Robin gathered up his seeking palm, and slipped back into the halo of his vision, her cheeks were wet with tears. Frederick yearned to wipe them away.

"Don't you  _dare_  l-leave me, Frederick the Wary…" Though her voice cracked, she leaned in close enough for the half-conscious knight to hear every word. "You  _promised!_  You have to stay  _with me_ …" She pressed her lips to the back of his hand fiercely, as if the action could anchor him there.

_Robin… forgive me._

He was slipping. Even now, he could not muster a whisper of her name. Yet he wished to say so much more.

_I loved you…_

Darker… Colder…

Other voices drifted through the haze, faint and murky.

" _I've got the left side! Where's Maribelle? We need another staff!"_

Lord Chrom…

" _Robin,_   _I can't keep him going like this for much longer! He's losing blood…"_

Lady Lissa…

More tugging on his armor, more prickling in his side…

Frederick gazed, unseeing, through the dark borders of his spotty vision, hoping to catch a glimpse of their faces. His lord and lady… he had often vowed he would serve them to the bitter end. At least, like this, he had done his part to see them through the war alive. If they were here, it was over. And wherever Gangrel was, dead or fleeing, mattered not. Plegia's decimated forces would no longer threaten their kingdom.

They would live.  _Robin_  would live. That was all that mattered.

Frederick rested his weary limbs. The pressure on his chest was nothing now. With nothing to see or hear, perhaps he had finally slipped under the veil.

Knowing that the people he fought to protect lived on… that was perhaps the closest he could come to a sense of peace. Together, they could keep each other safe. They would move on. The woman he loved, and the prince he served… even he could not deny the enduring strength of their friendship.

_At least… she won't be alone._

Though his world was dark, Frederick could still picture her face as he last saw it.

With a bit more effort, he envisioned her smile.

_Milord… take care of her._


End file.
